All Souled Out
by Marjorie K. Place
Summary: Pride faces his greatest challenge when Chris is abducted by a sadist. What he doesn't realize is that the real life saving begins at home. Pride/LaSalle bonding and strong hints of Cherri. References of Team bonding/angst.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This a mild prequel piece to COL's _Tortured Soul_. It follows Pride (and Brody's) POV on LaSalle's abduction and explores the emotions of the team as they search for their missing team mate (and later deal with his resurfacing). This story is rated "T" and contains mild references to torture and abuse as well as comfort and fluff too (Cherrish and father/son references). In other words, if you desire the all of the gory details and explicit Cherri scenes read Tortured Soul ;). **

**Warning: Mild Language and dark themes**

 **Prologue.**

'Tom' as he was known on the Internet and to clients, grinned with satisfaction as he hefted the Chris LaSalle's limp body and tossed it into the trunk of his Dodge Charger. He'd first read about LaSalle in the newspaper, after the agent had become the target in a plot of revenge that had left his girlfriend and two NOPD officers dead. Acquiring a Federal Agent had not been an easy feat. In fact, it had taken some masterful planning on his part, to learn the agent's habits and social patterns. Always a solo act, Tom stalked the agent waiting for the perfect opportunity which had taken longer than usual due to the agents unpredictable work schedule and ever changing routines. There were some nights when LaSalle would just sit talking with a pretty girl on other nights he'd leave with said pretty girl to go hook-up. Only on occasion did the agent get stupidly drunk where he wouldn't notice a tail

This night was such a night with LaSalle's drink of choice being straight whiskey. Tom had actually taken a risk and got close to the agent striking up a conversation about Alabama football. All night long he made sure his best girls plowed his intended with a steady stream of drinks. Like most of his victims he waited until LaSalle let his guard down and then masterfully slipped rohypnol into his drink, followed him around the block to the public parking lot and jumped him. Given the agent's inebriated state the struggle had been brief.

An NCIS agent would fetch a nice price. Young, attractive and in his prime, Chris LaSalle would indeed be worth more than the typical sorority girl, or runaway. Vulnerable, and full of fight, Tom hoped his client would be intrigued enough to make a purchase. Yes, sir, he had a special client all picked out for the agent, one that was into darker and methodical methods of torture.

* * *

 **6 Hours Later...**

There was an ache in LaSalle's arms as he came to and it was easy to figure out why. He was suspended from the ceiling, his wrists in chains and toes teetering about an inch from the floor.

For several seconds he stared down at his shoes, trying to get his eyes to focus. Nothing was making sense, his head hurt unmercifully, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. But in reality it was a piece of sodden gauze, covered by duct tape to keep him from calling out. He clearly remembered tying on a good one with a pretty girl at the Avenue Pub and then bidding her adieu but the rest was blank.

The idea that he'd most likely been ruffied came to forefront of his mind as two blurry figures started toward him: one average height and the other over six feet tall. Chris could tell that they were speaking but whatever messed up drugs he'd been given made it hard to comprehend, other than he was in deep shit.

The smaller of the men grabbed him by the chin lifting his head up.

"Was I wrong?" Tom grinned at his best client, (Gabriel as he was known by his business associates). "Strong, lean, great muscle tone, nice looking and a cop."

LaSalle conjured a low growling noise from deep inside his throat as Tom proceeded to sell him to his client like he was some sort award winning pedigree.

Tom glared at the agent's meager attempt at a protest. "Oh, excuse me, Federal Agent." The trafficker sneered, averting his attention back to the client. "Would you like to see his teeth? He's got real nice ones on top. The bottom not so much."

Gabriel gave a subtle nod. Though he liked what he saw he wasn't quite sold on the idea of bringing a federal agent into his den. The liability alone was enough to make him pass up the pretty trussed up man. But then he saw something.

"C'mon smile for the man," Tom sneered as he ripped off the gag and pulled out the gauze.

"Go tah hell!" Chris snarled nailing the trafficker with a swift kick, that sent the man sprawling to the ground. Defiant, blue eyes looked down upon his captor, daring him to fight back. It was the kind of defiance that said he would use every fiber of his being to fight and ultimately die before cowering and relinquishing his soul.

So, the pretty boy had fight. Gabriel liked that. In fact, he was so intrigued by it that he prompted Tom to discipline his newest prize. Not that Gabriel wouldn't let any actual harm come to the handsome man with the striking blue eyes. But he needed to see just how long the agent's fight might last. If his hunch was correct he was about to gain the prize of a lifetime. Now normally, the sadist preferred to inflict his pain on defenseless woman and an occasional mouthy dock worker, both of whom always ended up being sniveling wrecks by the end of the first round. But a federal agent, well, that might just be a nice change of pace.

"You stupid son of bitch," Tom snarled climbing to his feet, his fist curling. In one fluid movement he clocked the agent with a solid to the jaw. "You just sealed your fate." Looking around, the elite human trafficker of New Orleans picked up a two by four, preparing to crush the agent's skull. A sadist such as Gabriel might enjoy watching the light go out of the agents eyes before he dragged him off to do God knows what. Hell, he might even being LaSalle a favor.

"I don't like bruising." Gabriel said, earning a hard glare as Tom tried to marshal his anger.

"No guarantees," Tom hissed, knowing the deal would go sour if he damaged the merchandise too much.

Chris let out a groan looking heavenward as the two-by-four struck him hard in the left side of his rib cage, but didn't waver. Still holding a hard gaze of his own, he waited for Tom to try again, but this time he was ready, steeling himself from crying out. The second blow was much harder than the first, this time it felt like it had perforated a lung. If that were true it would get very hard to breathe, as it was his heart was already thundering in his chest trying to compensate for the additional adrenaline that his body was creating in order to deal with the fear. He'd been in tough scrapes over the years but never a dire as this.

Tossing the two-by-four aside, Tom went for the agent's gut with a closed fist, earning the tip of Chris' steeled toed-boot to the forearm. It wasn't enough to stop the man who dealt in selling human beings as if they were some sort of sport. But it did make him back off for the moment.

"Excellent," Gabriel hissed under his breath before waving Tom away. Keeping at safe distance, he took a moment to look over the fine specimen he was about to acquire from all angles. Slowly, he circled around the bound agent making a mental list of LaSalle's best assets. Physically the agent was perfect, no doubt about that it. But in the end it was Chris' eyes and outright defiant attitude that won him over. Gabriel had grown bored with his usual stock of playthings and was looking for something new, something that presented a bit more of a challenge and excitement.

That hard sexy f- you gaze would be worth every penny.

But there was much work to be done with this one before he would submit. Tendrils and layers that society had planted needing tearing down so that agent might find his true self. The true self of humility and fear that all human's were originally given, a clean slate, a new beginning to wipe away the arrogance that LaSalle had acquired from years of pretending would definitely take some effort on creativity on his part.

"I assume you'll be wanting the usual price?" Gabriel asked when it was clear he wasn't going to win the staring contest he had started with LaSalle.

"Actually, the price just went up ten-thousand," Tom said. "Being that he is a federal agent, he was difficult to acquire."

Gabriel stroked his chin. Usually he wasn't one to barter but Tom did have a point. This time instead of the usual whimpering, sniveling college girl, he was offering up something special, for the sadist, something that would challenge his mind as well as his worldly needs.

Turning back to LaSalle, he lifted the light grey Henley inspecting the agent's left side where Tom had struck him with the two-by-four and as expected, Chris jerked and twisted away when touched.

"It's most likely fractured." Gabriel said suppressing a grin as he made eye-contract with what he considered to be his new pet. Normally, he would never accept damage goods no matter how slight the flaw. Christopher LaSalle would be his first exception. He could live with a bruised and/or cracked rib, if it didn't take away from the agent's resolve to fight.

"Only five thousand more then," Tom crossed over to the agent, grinning. "This bastard here, he's gonna fuck you up real good." He sneered replacing the gag before injecting him in the neck with a hefty animal tranquilizer.

LaSalle's upper lip curled with continued defiance as two men completed their so called business deal with cash. A mere fifteen thousand is what the agent's life was apparently worth.

"You want him packaged up in the usual way?" Tom questioned, stuffing the cash into a lock box.

"I think I'll do it myself," Gabriel answered looking back at the pretty agent one more time before shaking hands with the trafficker. "Oh there is one more thing."

"What's that?" Tom asked, unsuspecting of what was about to happen. The monster and the trafficker had been doing business for years. He had just given the sadist the plaything of a lifetime. There was no reason to think their business relationship wouldn't continue.

Gabriel's hand fell to the smaller man's shoulder. "I like you, Tom but unfortunately we can't do business anymore." Kidnapping a federal agent would leave too many loose ends. Where normal law enforcement would give minimal attention to the missing co-ed or housewife, a missing federal agent would bring out the bloodhounds and additional manpower to no avail. So, Gabriel had to be extra careful not to leave any bases uncovered. His tracks needed to be covered completely which usually wasn't too hard, being that he wasn't in any federal system that housed fingerprints, DNA or photographs.

Gauging Tom's expression, he waited until just the right moment and then expertly clutched the man's jaw with his giant paws, snapping the man's neck like a twig.

* * *

LaSalle's stomach twisted with gut wrenching fear as he watched the dead trafficker's body slump to the hard floor with vacant eyes. No longer was he grinning over his latest business transaction.

The giant of a man killed him with his bare hands.

Before Chris could take in his next breath, the monster of man, had his hands on him. One clutching LaSalle's jaw and the other anchoring the back his neck.

For a moment, Chris thought he was about to suffer the same fate, until the monster leaned in whispering in his ear, right before his world went completely dark. "When I finish with you Pretty Boy, you're going to be begging me to break your neck too."

 **A/N: Ok, so if you can handle this chapter. You'll probably be good for the rest as the story mainly deals with the emotional trials of LaSalle's abduction.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the great opening response. I appreciate all who have put this story on alert. This chapter deals a lot with Pride and team. No real surprises for those who are reading TS, but a lot of exposition building for those who are not. There is also a small scene with LaSalle, but nothing that you wouldn't normally expect from me. It just happened to fit in nicely with Pride's thoughts.**

 **COL is credited for a great deal of the ideas within this chapter. ;)**

"What?" Pride felt his stomach muscles clench when he received a call from the NOPD that LaSalle's Black Ford F-150 was sitting in impound after being reported as abandoned in one of the lots down in the Garden District. Evidently traffic patrol had marked the tires over the weekend and had seen fit to tow it, first thing on Monday morning.

That might explain why his young friend has failed to show up this morning.

"He's not in jail is he?" he tried to ask out of the ear shot of the two female agents. One of Pride's biggest fears was that Chris would end up with a drunken and disorderly on his record or worst a DUI, either of which could instantly ruin a promising career.

For a while it seemed like the agent was handling Savannah's death a bit better than he had in the beginning, by investing in a hobby. Chris had gone back to spending time at the Children's hospital building Lego structures with the kids on the weekends and it had looked like to Pride that was helping to keep him grounded.

But then came a dreadful reminder about Savannah's upcoming birthday. It had just popped up on his phone, hitting the agent in face larger than life, tearing open the wounds that were just beginning to heal.

Just like that it had sent him spiraling backwards. Back to the bars and one-night stands. Oh Pride had tried to intervene as he'd done before but this time he'd found his surrogate son to be a bit more resistant to just moving through the pain and finding something that would help him _lean in._

"The keys were where?" The keyless remote had been found under the running board by the towing company.

The clenching in Pride's stomach had just turned into a pit, a sucker punch that now had every nerve ending in his body screaming. Relaying a stream of niceties and the promise to pick up the truck, he hung up the phone.

"What's wrong?" A perceptive Meredith Brody asked.

Doubtless, Pride now had worried written all over his face. "Not sure, why don't you call, Christopher see where's he's at?"

Brody looked at him skeptically. She'd already tried that (as has Pride). "Straight to voicemail," she swallowed earning a discerning nod. Neither would say it, but they were both scared shitless.

"Start checking all of the hospitals," Pride said in his usual calm demeanor. It stood to reason that if LaSalle had lost his keys, then he'd probably lost his senses, whether it was from his own doing or someone else's.

A mugging? Pride could only hope that it was something as simple as that and his young friend had been unable to reach out to them due an incapacitating injury. But years of training and experience told him that it was probably something much worse.

Things he didn't want to think about. Like himself, LaSalle had his fair share of enemies and if they knew he was vulnerable. Pride shuddered to think about it.

"Percy, I want you down in the Garden District. Start at the bars, talk to anyone who might have seen LaSalle on Friday night."

The new agent briefly exchanged glances with her senior partner. "Ok, but where you goin'?"

"Christopher's. I'll catch up with the two of you as soon as I can." Pride walked over to the filing cabinet where he kept his prized Colt Python before retrieving the spare key to LaSalle's back patio door.

An eerie feeling past through the senior agent as he stood in the center of LaSalle's living room looking around, not one thing seemed to be out of place. Not that he thought it would be given that all signs seemed to be pointing that something had occurred downtown.

He moved through the small 1400 square foot garden home trying to see it through the eyes of an investigator rather than LaSalle's best friend. The hours they had spent there together sitting in the courtyard, preparing shrimp boil and tossing back cold ones now seemed hauntingly gut wrenching.

Pride crossed over to the set of the French doors that separated the great room from the bedroom and looked toward the large pain window that faced the street. Visions of shattering glass destroyed by gunfire in the wake of finding Savannah's dead body swept through him like a tidal wave.

Brody and Percy constantly berated their teammate for not trying to sell the place and move into something without such horrifying memories, but Pride understood. After twenty-three years of marriage to Linda, he would have never been able to leave the home that they'd shared if he'd been given a choice.

Although it seemed a bit premature and a bit of an invasion of LaSalle's privacy, Pride stepped into the bedroom making his way to the nightstand. There was something that he needed to see.

A tug on the drawer, revealed the small key that fit the steel lockbox which Chris kept in the top of the wardrobe. If the nagging feeling that continued to claw at Pride's gut was correct, he'd find the agent's service weapon.

The dark steel Sig-Pro 228 sat, waiting for its owner to reclaim it. The fact that the weapon was sitting there safely tucked away waiting for the end of the weekend signaled that Chris had gone down to the Garden District for pleasure rather than work related reasons.

Not that this surprised, the King of the city. It just stood to confirm LaSalle's guard had been down, explaining why the keys had ended up under the running board of the truck. Reaching into the box, Pride picked up the gun and stuffed it into the back of his pants. He would now hold onto the weapon for safe keeping until he could hand it back to his friend.

* * *

Meeting Percy and Brody at the NOPD impound lot; they went over the truck with a fine tooth comb. As with LaSalle's house, there was nothing out of the ordinary, not one strange fingerprint, nor hair to be found.

Sonja Percy made a face as she refiled through a drawstring laundry bag pulling out several articles of clothing looking for a clue. "No wonder ya didn't find anything at his place everything he owns in the backseat."

"He uses a laundry service." Brody retorted quietly trying to contain her graceful mannerisms. Like Pride, her insides were knotted up. She couldn't fathom the use of the younger brash agent's sarcasm when LaSalle was missing, possibly fighting for his life somewhere in a deep dark pit with a gun to his head or worse injured, left in a ditch to die like Percy had a little less than a year ago.

If Brody had to put money on it, Percy wouldn't connect things back to that.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Brody attempted to calm herself with soothing meditating thoughts. Maybe LaSalle had just partied a little bit too hard over the weekend, and was off somewhere sleeping it off with one of lady friends (as he referred to them).

But at 3 p.m. on a Monday afternoon she highly doubted that. Chris was how could she put it? A responsible party animal. He knew his limits and still held the highest expectation for himself when it came to his work.

He may show up in three day ol' jeans every now and then, but ethics wise he never missed a beat, which is why her stomach was now producing acid faster than her body could deal with it. As much as she wanted to push it from her mind, something not so pleasant had happened to her partner and friend.

"Let's close it up, take it back to the office. We can finish going over it there," Pride said from somewhere behind her. "I'll drive. Brody, you and Sonja take the Explorer."

The senior of the female agents nodded woodenly as she started to close up her kit, with nearly twenty years of service to her name every ounce of her experience told her that letting with weekend slip by with no knowledge of their missing team mate that they had missed a valuable window of opportunity. The first several hours immediately following an abduction were crucial, if that's what they were calling this.

She hoped to god not, but at the moment there was no other theory to go on. The check of the hospitals had turned out to be a bust. Their only other logical aspect without having any evidence was to start checking the morgue that serviced the outlining Parishes and that wasn't something that neither she nor Pride was willing to do just yet.

"Does the laundry service also take care of his trash?" Percy tossed out picking up a crumpled bag of Zapp's potato chips with a gloved hand for Brody's inspection.

Merri gave a small smile. Chris did seem to love those local potato chips and if her guess was correct, he had a stash of the snack sized bags behind the seat next to his forensics kits.

There was no need to say anything however since Pride seemed to have leveled the feisty agent with an expectant glance, pulling her right back on track.

"I'll drop you off, then I'll head on over to Doc Wade's see if tall and lanky might be able to pull something off of some of this stuff."

"Good idea," Pride answered, picking up on Brody's eye roll as Percy turned her back.

* * *

Patton Plame pinched the bridge of his nose trying to ward off the burn behind his eyes. As hard as he tried he just couldn't look at the computer screen anymore. Ever since Christopher LaSalle had disappeared, the computer wizard sat planted in his chair pouring over footage from traffic cameras all over the Garden District where the missing agent's truck had been found.

"You come up with anything?"

Plame opened his eyes as Pride's hand came down on his shoulder.

Patton could barely look at his friend and employer. In his mind, forty-eight hours was an unacceptable amount of time to be searching through video feeds and still come up with nothing.

Whether anyone said it or not, the clock was ticking on LaSalle's life. Statistics said that the majority of kidnap victims were killed within 48 hours and to the best of their knowledge he'd already been missing for more than 72.

"I'm gonna change my direction, see if I can't pick him on an ATM camera or somethin'. My man's got to be out there somewhere I've just got to connect with the right piece of technology.

"Appreciate it," Pride gave the younger man's shoulder a squeeze and then walked back over into the bullpen where Brody and Percy were busy building a timeline of LaSalle's barhopping that night. What little information they had, consisted of witness statements that contained unconfirmed answers, save for one female bartender at the Avenue Pub who thought she remembered Chris' for his charming smile. But again, nothing concrete enough to actually tie it into anything.

"I'm heading back down to the Garden District. Gonna take another look around, see if there's something we missed."

"You want some company?" Brody asked, only to have Pride call out an _I got this_ over his shoulder. The worried junior agent frowned thoughtfully, but Pride couldn't help that. She needed to be here with Percy trying to learn things.

In reality, the man just needed some time alone. The fact that his best friend and surrogate son had gone missing was tearing him up almost to the point that he couldn't breathe. Time seemed to be passing at an alarming speed. And they had no idea who'd taken Chris or what might be happening to him.

Once he got inside the car, he gripped the steering wheel and lowered his head in defeat. He'd had a bad feeling on Friday night when his friend up and walked out. The two had words the night that Chris had gone missing. Not heated words per say, but firm enough to let the younger agent know that Pride didn't approve of his afterhours activities.

 _"_ _Going out?"_

 _"_ _Yup," Chris grinned, stuffing his phone into his back pocket._

 _"_ _How about ya change yer plans? We can head down to the bar do some more work on those new table tops I just bought, I'll cook ya up some of that honey glazed shrimp Jambalaya ya like , got cold beer. We can talk about it."_

 _"_ _King-" As much as he appreciated the offer, he wanted to be alone so that he could drown himself in sea of alcohol and pretty women. Spending time with Pride on Savannah's birthday, talking just wasn't what he had planned for tonight, or any other night._

 _"_ _Chris, we've talked about this, this is not the way to being handling Savannah's death-"_

 _"_ _An' I ol you, I'm good." Like usual LaSalle had handled it with a respectful tone, "Ya worry too much King. "Look, come Monday morning, I'll be here bright and early. So early ya won't even know that I was gone."_

 _"_ _Countin' on it, Chris."_

* * *

Somewhere out in the middle of God only knew where, Chris LaSalle was thinking about those same words. After more than 96 hours in hell, he was sorely wishing he'd listened to his friend. More like he was praying said friend would come and pull his sorry ass out of this nightmarish purgatory that he'd gotten himself into. Not that he really wanted Pride to see him trussed up like a pig waiting to be slaughtered, but he'd give just about anything right now just for the opportunity to have a bullet put through the monster's head.

Bound and immobilized, he was forced to listen to the ticking sound of an old alarm clock that the _monster_ kept nearby. Burning fear curled deep within his belly as he watched the hands climb up towards the subsequent sounding hour that would signal the next round of torture. Every hour on the hour it was the same vicious cycle; beaten, his insides fileted until they resembled ground hamburger meat, and then finally choked by the larger man's paws. It would be one thing if the agent held something that the sadist actually wanted (not that LaSalle would have given it to him) but he just seemed to want to inflict pain and lots of it!

Chris tried to fight back, but the more he did, the more intense and violent the monster became, strangling him until the point where he passed out. Not to mention, his efforts where rather futile; he literally could not move. His only resolution was to let his mind escape, but even with that it seemed that the monster still managed to maintain a certain level of control. Gabriel would use certain tactics from which he could not escape to keep him engaged in the moment. God, how he loathed himself for not being strong enough to break free and murder the bastard with his bare hands like he did to Tom the Trafficker.

Closing his eyes, he tried to escape this horror that had fallen upon him, concentrating on his other pain; The pain that had brought him to the bar in the first place. For the first time in long while he thought about Savannah and the flowery sweet smell of her hair as she laid pressed up against him while they listened to the sounds outside his window. The reminiscent sound of her laughter, the little sounds that she tried to hold back when they were making love, that eventually turned into soft giggles, the special smile that she reserved solely for him, everything that he found good about her and the love that they had shared together.

A slight grin fell across his face as he thought about how ridiculous it sounded that he had chosen this exact moment to start moving through his pain. It was so comical in fact that he nearly laughed out loud. Of course he didn't realize that it was the fear moving through his system that kept him from feeling the real pain he had been hiding behind his mask. But at least he was acknowledging it.

Though, they hadn't been together long, a ridiculously short amount of time really, to say that Alabama born, red head, was the love the of his life, Chris compared their love to that of his grandparents, they had only known each other for just a few months before they had decided to tie the knot in a union that was now over more than fifty years strong. His grandfather had always told him that when the right person came along, it was just right and for Chris that person had been Savannah. God, how he missed her.

Maybe this was the penance he had to pay for not being home when she was murdered? Perhaps being bound and used a like dog's chew toy was what he deserved? Whether he knew it or not, captivity and constant torment were already beginning to change him and not necessarily for the good.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: All right here's a bit more. This chapter still follows COL's basic outline for LaSalle's abduction and reflects a variety of perspectives. Hope you continue to enjoy!**

Pride did nothing but drive around the Garden District at a turtle's pace trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The problem was there weren't any actually pieces. They had nothing. Glancing at the clock, Pride saw the digital numbers change to midnight. Another day had started and LaSalle's abduction had just reached the 96 hour mark. From here on out he would need to mark the time in days. Eventually, he was going to have call Chris' mother and Cade. He'd hoped to spare them that horrible feeling of the unknown, but as time marched on he couldn't avoid it. He'd do it in the morning he reasoned as the Bluetooth lit up with a call from Brody.

"Talk to me, Brody," he answered with a click of a button on the steering wheel.

"Patton's got something. He found a five second of clip of Chris entering the lot where the truck was found. He was jumped by an average sized guy with dark hair."

"Did ya get a shot of his face?" Pride felt his heart squeeze. His fear that LaSalle was actually abducted just turned real. But if they can match the face they have a suspect. Someone to go after and once he caught that sorry someone he would make certain they were punished to the fullest extent of his wrath. Depending on LaSalle's condition when he found him, he might even forgo a trial. But all of that was still just an _if_

By the sun rose with Pride pacing like a caged tiger. Hours of running the photo that Patton had managed to capture through a software facial recognition program was proving to be frustrating and infuriating. The tension in the room was thick, marked by the anxiety of the expressions worn by his equally frustrated charges.

Brody and Percy were gathered around Patton. It had become one of those moments where if enough people stared at the computer screen it would find a match. They'd all become so desperate that Patton was speaking to his computer as if it were a beautiful woman he was trying to seduce.

"C'mon you sweet, sexy, thing, just give Triple P a match. You can do it, honey."

Pride smiled tightly at the comment and quietly slipped from the room, wandering out into the courtyard where he gripped the back of a wrought iron chair, looking heavenward. "Please," he whispered in his own form of desperation. He probably would have said, more, begged for any kind of sign, but a calming hand running down his back stopped him.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw Loretta gazing up at him with her big dark, angst filled irises. Better than anyone the motherly medical examiner, knew how he felt about Chris. She'd literally watched him raise LaSalle from a disrespectful young detective to a top rate lawman, an image of Pride's own self; the portrait of a son he never had.

"I am so sorry," she whispered as he turned into her, engulfing her fully. "You will find him, Dwayne, I know you will."

"Time is just not my friend right now." He swallowed, breaking away to a respectful distance. "The evidence, it's just not-" His voice nearly cracked.

"You will find it." Loretta said, with conviction as she looked up at him in admiration. "You always do."

But the question was would they find it in time to save Chris? Pride pinched his nose in an underlying manner to will away the intense fear that had gripped him ever he realized his surrogate son had gone missing.

"I've got to go call, Laurel. She has a recital today." He said, sounding rather detached. The recital was at noon and he'd promised his daughter he'd be there sitting in the front row with bells on. Thank god, Laurel was an adult now and would be able to empathize with his need to keep searching for Chris. Though he dreaded telling her about her self-proclaimed big brother's disappearance, he wondered how she would take the news. She loved Chris, almost as much as he did.

Pride moved almost mechanically as he started inside, stopping only at the sound of Brody's yell.

Patton had found a match.

Stuffing his phone back into his pocket, Pride looked at Loretta. "Go home, light a candle and pray."

"Already ready done." Loretta replied with a sense of hopefulness as he jogged past her back into Patton's lair to where three sets of eyes were expectantly looking at the computer screen to tell them exactly where the suspect had hidden their friend.

"LeRoy Thomas Hanson." Patton scrolled through the police report that had been attached to the man's picture. "Currently wanted for questioning on the suspicion of human trafficking. Did 7 years in Angola for the attempted kidnapping of a college student and the procession of rohypnol."

"A human trafficker?" Sonja Percy's voice more than filled the walls of the computer wizard's parlor. No one wanted to say it but they were all thinking that just because they now had a match didn't mean they were going to find their friend. Human traffickers usually moved fast and given that they had pinned the timeline to now over 96 hours, things still looked bleak.

Meredith Brody quietly covered her mouth to prevent her own thoughts from escaping. As par for the course, traffickers were known for trading their merchandise into the hands of those who dealt in drugging their victims and turning them into sex slaves. Oh, how she feared for Chris. She'd been terrified before but now there were just no words that could describe the outright horror she was feeling. The very thought that someone could use and abuse her friend like that was making her physically ill.

Briefly she looked at Pride who seemed to be reading her thoughts. "Let's just work the case." He said, swallowing down the bile that had begun to rise up from the back of his throat.

* * *

Ross P. looked down at the mug shot that Pride had placed on the bar and thoughtfully chewed his lower lip, the wheels of his street wise mind turning. "Tom the Trafficker. Yeah, I've heard of him. The guy supposedly runs an Internet site, where he vets people of desire for his so called clients. Word is people tell him what they're looking for and he goes out and finds that exact match. Instead of sending his victims overseas to the big trades in Asia, he likes to keep things local."

"So there's a chance, Christopher could still be here." Versus being in a foreign land.

"Duh know," the ex-con shrugged. "But if he is, here don't necessarily mean here. Ya get what I'm sayin'? Grabbing a federal agent is risky business. My guess is he'd want to get LaSalle off of his hands as quickly as possible."

Pride nodded in agreement, the thought already established. "I just need to know where I can find him."

"I'll make some calls see what I can find out." Ross answered, earning a small grin.

"Appreciate it."

"Don't sweat it. You and LaSalle, you's family now." He returned with a grin of his own before outstretching his hand. He wasn't exactly hip to being best friends with two white federal agents, but over the last couple of years the pair had grown on him. They'd given him a chance at a real life, one that existed beyond the drugs and dealings of the streets.

Pride looked down, thoughtfully giving the man's hand a tight squeeze, thankful for his help. "Lem'me know as soon as you hear something."

Hours past, the sun had set, the moon taking its place. Another day was gone before Ross P was able to deliver Pride a solid location, an abandon meat packing plant just outside of Livingston.

"On my count." Pride stood with the assault rifle tightly planted in his hands. Brody and Percy along with a dozen SWAT team members at his flank, ready for a fight. Throwing up a hand, the senior agent used his fingers to signal their entrance.

"NCIS!" As soon as they hit the door, they were met with the all too familiar pungent smell of a rotting and decayed body. The smell was so strong that Pride's eyes instantly started to water as they made a clean sweep through the one room building.

Several of the SWAT team members instantly started to cough, in their body's response to the overpowering smell that lead them straight to the awkwardly shaped body lying in the center of the room.

"Damn it."

Pride heard Brody uncharacteristically swear as they looked down at Tom's broken body and vacant glassy dead eyes. Mustering his own emotions, he looked straight up to a set of shackles that were hanging directly above his head; he tried hard to not imagine his young friend hanging there like a prized piece of beef but given the situation it was hard not to.

An empty lock box used for storing money sat on a small wooden table and Pride briefly wondered how much his best friend's life had been worth. "Dust the box for prints," he told Percy as one of the SWAT team members shouted out to them from the back of building.

Heading out the backdoor, Pride and Brody entered a chain link area that surrounded a large square of concrete. In the middle of it, sat a large royal blue oil drum; a burn barrel. Pride shuddered, a little as he pulled out a set of gloves from his pocket and signaled Brody to the same. Together, they shifted through what looked to be burned ash and charcoal. Reaching awkwardly over the side, Pride shoved his arm down deep until his hand reached the bottom, felt around, and then pulled a heavy piece of denim clothing back up. It was heavily burned, almost to the point of designating but both Pride and Brody recognized it as a piece to a jacket that belonged to LaSalle.

"It might not be his," Brody said, not realizing she had actually vocalized her thoughts. Because if Chris' clothing had been burned made to look like he'd been as well, that made the horror that she might never see her friend again a vivid reality.

Pride stuck his arm down the barrel again, this time spilling out heaps of ash as his hand rooted about. "Go back to the car, get something to shift through this stuff with." They'd have to take it all back to the lab and have the ash processed just to make sure it didn't contain any human remains, which Pride felt certain that if the trafficker were dead on the floor inside that whatever had created the ash, didn't belong to the flesh of Chris LaSalle.

Whoever had killed Tom had taken Chris. A transaction gone bad? Not that it mattered, but the burning of Chris' clothes, signified that it was something very personal. Pride had read somewhere that some psychotic types used the burning as a ritual to strip away their victim's identity.

Where he had been debating before now he was certain there would be no court of law or jury of his peers for this sick bastard. Yes, sir just one strategically placed bullet.

Retracting his arm, Pride pulled up what looked to be a mangled, melted, leather lump. LaSalle's wallet? It was so badly burned that it was hard to tell, but yet there seem to be a connection of familiarity to it that the agent felt certain that is what is was.

"Let's tear this place apart. I want everything bagged and processed. No mistakes," More than ever time was of the essence; they desperately needed another clue, other than what they had just found if they were going to find Chris.

* * *

"Laurel?" It was late, when Dwayne stepped into the kitchen to find his daughter his waiting for him. "What are ya doin' here?"

A half-smile twitched to the pretty college sophomore lips as she fell into the arms of her father, allowing him to envelope her tightly. "I had to come." She said when they parted. "You need me."

Pride gave her a crooked smile of his own. "Well, that's true but you oughta be in school."

Chris was missing. How could she concentrate on school? "If the situation were reversed and I was the one who'd been kidnapped. Chris would be here right beside you, doin' whatever he could until I was back home safe."

True. Pride sometimes forgot how close Laurel was to his surrogate son. Chris had always had a natural way with kids and Laurel had been no exception. At 9 years old, she was absolutely crazy for the Bama born Agent.

Linda too. "Does your mother know?"

"I called her on my way here. She said to let her know if ya want her to go stay with Mrs. LaSalle." During her twenty-three years of marriage to the NCIS agent, Linda had taken it upon herself to try and comfort the family members of the victims, by sitting with them, while they waited for information about their lost loved one. It was part of what had made she and Pride such a good team. It was also the reason that tore them apart.

"She's good at those type of things but then so are you." Pride said, reminding himself of the dreaded notification he still needed to make. Though he'd put it off as long as he could, now that he had evidence of who had taken Chris there was no reason not to inform his family. "Speaking of Mrs. LaSalle, what do ya say you and I take a ride out to Mobile first thing in the morning?"

"You're gunna tell her about Chris." Laurel concluded, watching her father's eyes begin to water.

"Yeah," Pride said, his voice strangled.

 **A/N: This was the last of the exposition pieces which means the Father/Son and Cherri chapters will be coming up soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter. Several of you have mentioned/pm'd me about not going into detail with LaSalle's torture. Again, that is outlined in Tortured Soul by COL. But when the time comes it will be referenced in this story where it is appropriate for the plot. For now, another angsty chapter on deck!**

"Pride, Director Vance is on the phone for you." Dwayne Pride heard Brody words but was in no rush to act upon them as he brushed his fingers over the cold steel of Chris LaSalle's Sig Saucer P229 that now sat next to his Sweet Chermaine.

He'd recovered the weapon from LaSalle's home 28 days ago, when his young friend, had turned up missing, abducted with seemingly with no trace, other than a video clip from an ATM camera that showed the agent being jumped, by a known human trafficker. They'd tracked a source back to the trafficker who had taken Chris but they were too late, the creep was already dead. Whoever had taken LaSalle wanted to be sure that he wasn't found and at the moment they were doing an excellent job.

Patton had made it his personal mission to tear down the website of Trafficker Tom, firewall, by firewall to retrieve the identities of his so called clients. Oh, they'd made several arrests, even saving a victim or two, but hours upon hours of interrogation had left nowhere them. Nothing they said or did was putting them any closer to finding the missing agent.

To the rest of the world, it seemed that Christopher LaSalle was dead. But not to Pride and the others, they knew better. The burn barrel had nowhere near been hot enough to cremate a body. So, in Pride's eyes there was still hope. All they needed was one good solid lead.

Pride knew why Vance was calling. He was calling to tell him that it was time for him and the rest of the team to move on, that they needed to stop looking for LaSalle and focus on other cases. Not that Agency would completely abandon the search; Pride would never let that happen. He'd take time off, retire if he had to before letting the case go cold. One way or another he was determined to bring Chris home.

"Pride," This time Brody touched his shoulder.

"I'm comin,'" he said, taking a moment to swallow back the lump in his throat before closing the gun box and locking it. Shoulders somewhat slouched, he walked over to the Plasma screen along with Brody who picked up the remote.

"I know why you're calling, Leon," Pride said, calling the Director by his first name. "And I don't like it. I'm not giving up." Chris was still out there somewhere counting on him.

They saw the Director purse his lips. "I'm not asking you to give up and for the record this has not been an easy decision." But for the last few weeks, he had used every resource available in the Agency to find LaSalle and they'd still come up short. The man had just vanished, his body most likely soul food for the alligators in the local swamps.

"I'm sure it hasn't been." Pride muttered as Vance droned on in his official capacity.

"I understand this isn't easy, but you've got to resume normal operations. Please know that I will still do all in my power to bring those responsible for Agent LaSalle's abduction to justice."

Abduction. Not even Vance could bring himself to say that Chris was more than likely dead. But they all thought it and with each passing moment it was becoming painfully clear that it was the most likely the reality that they were all going to have to face.

"Just so you know, I'm putting my papers in." Pride returned, completely missing Brody's subtle glance.

"Me too." She added without missing a beat.

"Make that three," Patton added from somewhere in the background.

They were all certain that Percy would have as well but the new Agent was off meeting with one of her ATF contacts, desperate for a new lead that might save their missing friend.

"I have no control over your personal decisions." Vance nodded, with silent agreeance. "But know that if you cross any lines and interfere with the investigation itself, you will give me no choice but to exercise my authority to the fullest extent of the law. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Pride and Brody said in unison. Both knew that even if they were to walk out today that it would still be several weeks, before replacements could be found. So again, they would have to wait.

"And Pride, I'll be sending a special courier to retrieve your evidence and LaSalle's service weapon. I'm turning LaSalle's case over to the missing person's division of the FBI. From this point on it'll be a joint investigation." Vance skirted, he would never give up the case completely, but he was shoving it to the back burner in favor of petty crimes from the Navy Exchange and the occasional drunken brawl.

The FBI?

Pride sank his teeth into his bottom lip at the thought. "I'll make sure that the evidence is bagged and ready, but LaSalle's service weapon was never recovered. Mostly likely he had it on him. "

Brody schooled her expression until Vance ended the call. "You just lied to the Director." She was pretty certain that she knew why.

"I'm not giving Christopher's weapon up without a body." To allow a courier to take it and have it put into some storage warehouse was more than Pride could handle. "And I'm not giving up on him. I want you to go to the evidence locker and make sure we have copies of everything, and include scraps of Chris' clothing and anything else we collected from the burn barrel."

Tampering with evidence was a Federal offense but there was no way he was letting this case go cold, no way in hell. He'd gladly spend the rest of his days behind bars if it meant he could have just one real shot at getting Chris back alive.

"On it," Brody nodded knowing what she had to do grabbing the keys to the evidence locker. Following Pride's lead, she made her away across the court yard to the designated evidence locker in the safe room. She wasn't much for spending time in the small sound proof space, in fact she tried to avoid it when she could, but today she would spend the needed time, going over every inch of Chris LaSalle's burned clothing and charred personal items, meticulously inspecting every remaining fiber until she found the most useful pieces. Though they'd pretty much done that when Sebastian had sent back over after it had all been processed and photographed through the lab, but maybe, just maybe there was something they missed.

She started with the biggest article of clothing which was the denim wool lined jacket. It had been a really nice jacket and it had looked even better when it was on Chris, not like a couple of the others he had that were too big in the shoulders. This one fit him perfectly in all of the right places.

Had fit him perfectly.

Pulling it across the table she noted that the tag indicating the size was still intact, 42 regular. If she would have to guess she would have thought a 40, not that it mattered. Size 40 or 42, Chris LaSalle was a gorgeously built man. Willing the thought of the handsome agent's clothing size from her mind she carefully starting going through the remains of what had been a pocket. There wasn't anything inside that she could tell, not that she expected that there would be.

After she had gone through the clothing items she reached for the bag that contained what was left of his personal items. She almost felt a bit intrusive looking at them through the evidence bag, but there wasn't anything there she hadn't seen before or thought she had seen. It all looked so different now, burned and destroyed. Not a trace of anything unusable that she could see, until something caught her eye. There in the bag sat the remains of what had been copper beads. Emily's necklace, there was nothing left of it. Desperately she started searching for the St. Christopher's metal that had been attached to it. Had it melted in the fire?

No, no, no! It had to be here. Frantically, she started searching, her heart pounding furiously. It couldn't be gone. It just couldn't be!

Calm down, Merri, you're starting to panic. Hell, yes, she was panicked; she'd been running off anxiety and heart break for the last 28 days.

Loose pocket change spilled out onto the table as she dumped the bag and started picking through it. The medallion was sitting in the center of the pile, charred and a bit misshapen. No wonder she had over looked it.

Picking it up, she rubbed it between her fingers; her heart was starting to bleed. Suddenly, this all became personal. Not that it hadn't been before but discovery of the medallion and the destruction of her sister's necklace made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. Chris never took the two off the thought that someone had more than likely viciously taken them and discarded them like they were trash, made her weep. She wanted nothing more for this beautiful, loving man, her friend, her partner back in her life. Oh, how she wept for him. Against her will, long streams of tears spilled over onto her cheeks and onto the table, disappearing into the burned clothing. There had been only one other time in her life when she felt so completely alone, and helpless: the night she had learned Emily died.

Leaning on the table, she felt her knees begin to wobble. She was shaking and sobbing so hard she thought she was going to fall down. This wasn't right. For years she had been trained to follow the evidence, to believe in the science, but for whatever reason, it kept letting them down. It was failing them and worst it was failing Chris.

* * *

Evening came, and Pride found himself rooting around in the kitchen. He knew he should be at the bar tonight, but his heart just wasn't in it. To be at the bar, watching others have a good time when his surrogate son was going through hell someplace was just too much. So he'd asked his part-time help to take his place.

He felt guilty for not having the team working around the clock to find Chris. But as each day passed it was getting harder and harder. Without a solid lead, he was lost. After 28 days, they were all physically and emotionally exhausted.

But still they trudged on.

There were some nights when he and Brody would go out and just wander the Quarter, shoving LaSalle's picture into the face of every person he saw. He even had Ross P combing the streets in the hopes that his shifty friends would come up with something that they could use.

Still nothing.

Other nights, Pride would just spend time in his room, tirelessly pouring over all of the evidence. Instead of the Baitfish wall, he now had the wall of Christopher, a duplicate of the one that they had created in the conference room, only more personal.

A crash and a grunt of emotional portion sounded from the other the room. Pride bolted from the kitchen to find Percy palming her desk, the contents of it on the floor. Her head was hanging low in defeat.

"Sonja?"

Her head popped up at the sound of her name trying to hide the fact she was swiping at her face. 'Sorry I didn't know you were still here.' She said circling around the desk, and dropping to her knees.

Pride joined her on the floor as she started to collect the fragments of what was left of a picture frame. "Big Bird?'

"LaSalle gave it to me after I took my picture off of Facebook. He thought it was cute." She sniffed, running a hand through her long curls. "But I wanted to kill em." Oh god. Had she really said that out loud? Immediately, she started to backpedal as they stared at each other fully aware of the connotation. "Look, I didn't mean that-"

"I know," Pride said softly pulling to his feet. "So what did find out from your AFT friend?"

Percy placed her hands on either side of her nose, shaking head. "Nothing, the lead they had didn't connect back to LaSalle."

Pride opened his mouth but nothing came out. He simply shook his head, turning back for the kitchen.

Percy let out a pleading yowl. "Why can't we find him? Collecting evidence and finding things are what we do!" Angry tears unshed from a month of frustration and dead ends filled the petite agent's dark eyes. Like the rest, she just couldn't take it anymore.

Something which Dwayne Pride thought he'd never see.

She was so infuriated with the lack of progress that she could hardly breathe. She'd called in every favor, made promises that she couldn't possibly keep, done things that she would never do, all in the name of finding LaSalle, and still nothing. "I should have never left AFT!" At ATF she'd been on her own, no partner, no family to worry about. Without family there was no pain.

Pride pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew exactly how she felt. "When this is over, however it ends, you are free to go back." Heaven knew that if Chris were dead that he wasn't coming back so why should Percy be any different?

Percy made a small noise that resembled a sob. Like Pride and Brody she just wanted LaSalle back.

"It's ok," Pride soothed, walking back to her and engulfing her into his arms. "We're all goin' get through this."

"I don't see how," the youngest and least experienced of them all, Percy had never faced a tragedy such as this. The idea that the Agency was willing to label LaSalle's disappearance as a cold case and order them back to work was beyond her.

"One day at a time." Pride added, breaking away a little. "We don't give up, we just learn to work around things."

 **A/N: Sounds like LaSalle isn't the only one being tortured? I wonder how our agents will continue to cope?**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I know this chapter like the other is told through the method of head hopping, but I love showing the different perspectives! I'd also like to give a shout out to my guest readers. Thank you so much for reviewing.** **Also credit goes to my partner in crime, COL for our many chats on this story. There's a mild warning in this chapter for morbid thoughts. Still rated T and no detail of torture.**

"We stopped looking for LaSalle so that we could sit here waiting for a peeping Tom who has fetish for women who live in Navy housing?" Sonja Percy spouted as she sat next to her boss in the grey SUV waiting for their suspect to appear.

"It's part of the job." Pride said, reflective of fact that NCIS was much more than solving the occasional military related murder. "But let's gets one thing clear I will never stop looking for Chris."

"So what happened to you retirin'?" the young mouthy agent asked. "I thought you and Brody were all rarin' to quit."

"Takes time, but as I recall, you were right there with us a few days ago." Pride reached for the binoculars. Unlike Percy, he managed to keep his frustrations and emotions buried a little bit deeper, despite the fact he was withering away from a slow agonizing death of not knowing about the status of his surrogate son. Everyday when he woke up he wondered if Chris was still out there fighting to stay alive, waiting to be found.

"Still am." Sonja clipped. "I just don't understand why we ain't going all rogue and shit. LaSalle's out there somewhere."

Pride pulled the high powered lenses away from his face. "In the long run that wouldn't help Christopher." It would be one thing it they had a lead or some solid evidence. Hell, Pride would be right there but as it was they still had nothing. Not one damn thing. Going rogue would only guarantee them a lack of resources which in turn could endanger LaSalle's life further, if the young man were still alive.

Pride hated himself for letting the notion that Chris was probably dead enter his mind. But at this point, he just couldn't help it. Not that it changed anything necessarily one way or another he was still committed to bringing his friend home. He owed his best friend that much.

The Bluetooth lit up, pulling him away from his morbid thoughts. It was Brody.

"Ross P has been trying to contact you. He says a friend of his knows something about a body that was dumped out near the marsh in the 9th ward. Matches LaSalle's description, the friend says, the body has I.D."

"What kind of I.D?" Pride swallowed back a lump in his throat. They thought they had found Chris' wallet in the burn barrel along with his other personal belongings but what if they had overlooked something?

"NCIS credentials."

Pride momentarily closed his eyes to will away the tightening sensation that was gathering in his chest. "Get an address. We'll meet you there. But you have to wait. Do not view the body without me. Do you understand?" Whatever this turned out to be they were in it together.

A deafening silence filled the cab before Brody's voice came back. "I understand."

"Ya ready?" Pride asked Percy before throwing the truck into reserve.

"Are you?" the fiery agent retorted with a look of indifference. But the truth was she didn't know how she would react if the body turned out to be LaSalle as it was she was already teetering on a ledge, ready to jump off.

"You're never ready, especially when it's family." Pride swallowed as he straightened out the SUV and started to make his way out of Navy housing.

* * *

Was it wrong for a small part of Meredith Brody to hope that the body they were about view was that of her abducted friend? It wasn't wrong. It was downright horrible, despicable. This she knew. But she couldn't help but feel that it would bring them all peace as opposed to the draining feeling of limbo that they suffered through everyday.

LaSalle too.

Oh how she despised herself for thinking that way. But the truth was she had already begun to mourn her missing friend. There had just been something about finding the remains of Emily's necklace and the metal that brought a sense of finality to it all, sucking up her last ounce of hope.

She stuck her hand into her pants pocket, fingering the charred St. Christopher's medallion, that she determined would be her keepsake of her lost friend. She thought it quite funny that she had resided to carrying the metal that he kept so close to his heart, in her pocket after she had berated him for doing so.

It had been the reason she'd given him Emily's necklace in the first place. So the precious medallion wouldn't be lost.

Merri held her breath and then exhaled as she watched Pride kneel down and toss back the blue tarp that was covering the dead body. A man in his thirties with sandy brown hair and dead, fixed, vacant, blue eyes was starting up at her.

But it wasn't LaSalle. Be thankful, Merri. Just be thankful.

"These credentials say IRS, not NCIS!" she heard Percy groan directing her attention to the informant who have given Ross P the heads up about the body.

"Can't you read?"

The man looked like he was literally going to shit his pants as the 4'11 agent started toward him, determined to unleash whatever anger she had brewing inside of her damaged soul. Like the rest of them, Percy kept her feelings pent up inside, but when they started to spew anything in the short and might's way would end of as collateral damage.

Merri could relate to the feeling, but like Pride didn't act upon it. They were at another dead end, much to her relief.

"Let it go, Sonja," she said calmly, taking the younger agent by the arm yielding her in the opposite direction.

Percy's dark eyes flashed fire at the senior female agent. "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

"It was a mistake." Brody said, releasing the struggling agent.

Big mistake.

She was unprepared when Percy came back hard, her hands slamming directly in the center of Brody's chest. The Midwestern agent stepped back against her will stumbling but didn't fall.

Brody chanced a glance at Pride was quickly rising to his feet. She had her issues with the new agent, but had always managed to keep them to herself. Now wasn't the time to let them come spilling out. She would save that for when she and Percy were back at the office.

"I'll go call Loretta," she would marshal her anger for the moment, consenting to give the rookie grace instead of wrath. Pride could deal with her this time she thought sidestepping the flustered junior agent.

* * *

Over the next several days, the office became a silent, dreary place as each of the agents slipped into their own form of meta-mourning. It was a kind of mourning suffered when not knowing whether a loved one was dead or alive. It was term especially coined for those who had vanished. Conversation was exchanged in a forced detached sort of way that made the workplace bearable, but not a place that they really wanted to be.

It still hurt too much. LaSalle's smile and sheer presence was missing making it seem like an uninhabitable place.

Although Percy had apologized to Brody, the tension between them still ran high. For the time being, Pride had sidelined the rookie, making her stay in the office while he and Brody worked the active cases. After of month of putting everything on hold while they searched for LaSalle, they had accumulated a slew of them, not counting the ones they had been working on before the agent had disappeared.

There was a ton of work; probably enough to get through the next six months, not that it helped really. It just a distraction, to momentarily curb the pain they all felt.

Looking over at Chris' desk (which was really a table) Pride noticed it had become a shrine. Hell, the entire office was a shrine. There wasn't one square foot of it that didn't scream something about LaSalle.

Alabama football memorabilia, pictures, Mardi Gras beads and Legos were everywhere. If he didn't know better he would swear LaSalle had redecorated the place himself.

But in reality it was a random collection of little reminders they had all picked up over the last month. Happenstance, most of it just all ended up on the missing agent's desk.

Pride knew he should take down the timeline from the current case board to focus on those that were active, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he walked over to the large dry ease board and erased day 28, replacing it with day 32.

Thirty-two days missing.

* * *

When Chris LaSalle was first abducted, he'd awoken bound and gagged in a trafficker's den, fighting to the maximum extent that his drugged and battered body would allow, refusing to be handed over to God only knew what. The devil himself, a monster in disguise, as it turned out, with no chance of escape. Held captive, and tortured, for more than a month he didn't have anything left. His soul was gone, long fileted at the hands of the monster who now owned him.

So far from what he could tell, the hospital wasn't much different, with the exception that his resolve to fight had evaporated, along with the notion that his friends were coming to rescue him. That hope had died right along with his soul.

Doctors and nurses buzzed around him. Words and questions came and went, but he couldn't process them or didn't care to process them. As far as he was concerned, Christopher LaSalle was long dead. Now, he was nothing but an empty soulless shell of man waiting to die.

Correction, wanting to die.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?" A woman with a white coat asked.

Chris looked past her, murmuring a phrase too soft for her to hear.

 _Pretty Boy_

That was the name that his captor had given him. His own name had now been detached from his identity, lost in the constant cycle of torture and mental abuse.

A nurse stuck him with a needle and he grimaced and then sighed with any luck they were going to euthanize him like some poor suffering animal, given that the monster had seemingly thrown him away leaving him to die in the middle of nowhere. He vaguely remembered crawling on his belly through a wooded area with patches of melting snow on the ground but he couldn't be certain. Reality had escaped him quite some time ago making him question everything about himself. Who he was or more correctly, who he had been.

"This is just something to help you sleep, so that your body can heal," a foreign voice said. Well, it was more like they so they could examine him and start a course of treatment for exposure and hypothermia. Abrasions littered his normally handsome face, forearms, and torso, making sedation the kindest way to make him comfortable while they cleaned the festering wounds.

There were also contusions, painful, awful, looking bruises that indicated the agent had been severely beaten. If the medical staff had to guess, he probably had several stress fractures too. An MRI and a CAT scan were needed to rule out anything internal.

 _Heal, good luck with that!_ He laughed inwardly before letting the drug claim him. There was no way they could even hope to heal his soul. It had already died and gone to hell.

When he woke up the following day, Chris found himself restrained to his hospital bed with an IV attached to his right hand and soft cast on the left, from where he had suffered a minor fracture from a defensive wound courtesy of his captor. Typical, hospital protocol a catheter had also been shoved up between his legs, not that he noticed or cared.

A man without a soul didn't care about anything.

His captor, the monster, had kept him restrained the majority of the time, especially when he still had the fight left in him. Not that Chris noticed really noticed them now. He honestly didn't. The padded, cloth restraints were just a part of his anatomy or what was left of it. He was pretty certain that most it had been stripped away too by the hands of the beast.

"Oh! You're awake," a pretty nurse beamed at him. "Let me get Dr. Voit."

A few moments later, a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair entered the room. "Well, how are you feeling?"

Chris stared at the man blankly, not knowing how to answer the question. How was he supposed to feel? He didn't even know if he could feel anything. Pain, pleasure, it was all the same now. Nothing but a one huge twisted mass of emptiness. Void was the only way to describe it. It had been the only way to save himself from the violence and the constant torture. Mentally he had tried to escape but eventually, the monster had seen through that and developed new torturous ways of keeping him in the game so that his mind was always on the forefront of what was happening to him.

The doctor moved closer and started to work the restraints. "Sorry about these you were thrashing in your sleep."

Chris gave a slight nod of coherence.

 _Buddy if you'd been through what I have you'd probably thrash in your sleep too!_

The doctor gave him another minute and then asked him his name.

Chris thought for a moment as the pet name once again sprang to the forefront of his mind. Pushing it aside, he let out a shuddering breath. It had been so long since he'd spoken to anyone he wasn't certain what was going to come out or if he even could speak, much less hold an actual conversation with anyone.

In the last violent round of beatings with his captor, the monster had thrown himself into a rage, nearly choking the life out of his captive. Again, not that the agent cared, in fact he was almost sorry that the bastard hadn't finished the deed. If he had, Chris wouldn't be restrained to a hospital bed dwelling on it.

"LaSalle… Christopher," he finally said in a strangled tone that nowhere near resembled the normally strong southern accented, voice that he remembered.

"It's nice to meet you, Christopher. What you do for a living?" Based on his initial examination of his patient, the doctor already had a pretty good idea of what had happened to the man and knew it was wise not to press beyond the basics until he was certain of his mental status.

Chris let out another long sigh. "I'm federal agent out of Louisiana. Work for NCIS." The mention of it sounded so foreign, like maybe it had been a dream, something his mind had conjured up to protect him from the constant abuse. If that were the case he really was crazy. What if everything that he had held onto from the past was all for nothing? His mind drew a blank on the number of days he'd been gone. A week? A month? A year? He honestly didn't know anymore. Not that it mattered, nothing mattered.

If he had worked for NCIS there was no way he could ever go back now. Pride would never consider it, not after he'd failed to heed the older man's warning and allowed himself to be captured and relentlessly tortured for sport.

"Well, Agent LaSalle, you're long way from home." The doctor said, presenting a small smile. "Is there anyone you'd like for us to call for you, a relative or a friend?"

LaSalle debated about saying no. But he knew given his situation, the local authorities would become involved, if they hadn't already and that eventually he'd pop up in the system as a missing person (a person who was missing due his own stupidity).

He should have never gone out drinking that night, but by the time he'd realized he'd been ruffied it was too late. The human trafficker scum was all over him like flies on… selling him to the highest bidder, a monster bidder who by all rights should have killed him.

Averting his gaze he looked heavenward, wishing he could just forgo an answer. No matter who he chose, he was still couldn't avoid the inevitable. Cade and his mother and sister aside, his friends, and Pride deserved some sort of closure to all of this didn't they?

But then again, the idea of them never knowing the horrific truth seemed like the kindest resolution at this point. Because the man they were about to get back didn't even come close to the one that they no doubt going out of their minds to find. On the other hand, if his friends truly existed they probably thought he was dead by now. Pride would never stop looking a little voice called out, suspect of what he could remember of the older man.

"Mr. LaSalle?" the doctor prompted gently.

"King," Chris finally whispered.

 **A/N: Well LaSalle is free and alive, but are his troubles over?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I meant to post this earlier this week, but time got away from me. Some of this chapter mirrors COL's story in keeping with the exposition. This chapter isn't quite as angsty as some of the others but will the reunion with Chris be what Pride and Brody are expecting?**

Pride looked down at Lance Corporal, Aaron Schmidt, and sighed. The young Marine had been the unfortunate victim of an accidental electrocution when he inadvertently touched the easel of a dry erase board when plugging in a frayed electrical cord. The jolt, instantly stopped his heart.

At least that's the way someone had made it seem. But the burn marks up and down the young man's body suggested otherwise.

The senior agent hated to think that something so morbid could be seen as a good thing but he was rather thankful that they'd drawn a one of the more meaty cases. It was an opportunity to see them working busily as a team again. That wasn't true. They were still only partially team.

That was until his phone rang.

Pride he answered with a cheerful grin until the voice on the other end made his stomach plummet. A nurse or someone or other from a hospital in Little Rock Arkansas had just said the one name that stung him to his very core. Had he heard the woman correctly?

Pride grabbed Brody's arm keeping her at his flank as she attempted to move away from the victim. "Say that name again."

"Christopher LaSalle. You're sure?" he asked with careful assertion as if he didn't want to get his hopes up. The idea that after all of their searching and investigating had drawn blank but now out of the blue someone just happen to call up with not only a lead but Chris in the flesh baffled him. He looked at Brody, his pale green eyes meeting her wide brown ones. The expression on her face was a mixture of fear and anxiety, which he was certain, matched his own. He pulled his hand away from his face and switched the phone to speaker mode.

"Yes, sir. He's been admitted here. He asked us to contact someone named King?" Actually the hospital had found Pride through LaSalle's admission to working for NCIS and called the government line.

"I'm King."

Pride anchored his hand on Brody's shoulder, watching her as she slapped her own hand over her mouth at the realization that their teammate was alive. The rest of the conversation was mute as Pride found himself hightailing for the SUV with Brody on his heels. Little Rock was more than a 7 hour drive, but with lights and sirens he could make it in a little over 5.

"Did she say anything about Chris' condition?" Brody asked from the passenger's seat as Pride frustratingly tried speed out of the French Quarter. At three O'clock on Friday afternoon it was a madhouse. Slow moving cars moving at a painstaking five miles per hour. As it was, they weren't going to arrive in Arkansas until almost eight or nine.

"Didn't ask," Pride replied. If the administrator had said, he didn't catch it. After hearing Chris' name he was unable to process anything else. The mere thought that his surrogate son had seemingly turned up alive was all that he could handle.

But as Brody's question had hinted, a small part of him feared what condition they might find their friend once they arrived. Thirty-two days in captivity was an awfully long time for Pride to expect that he would find the same man he knew before LaSalle had been abducted. Given what some of the victims they had saved had reported he suspected that Chris' account would be similar and if that were the case it was going to be quite a while before things returned to normal.

* * *

 **Little Rock Memorial Hospital**

"Christopher LaSalle L-a- Capital S -a-l-l-e." Pride frustration was growing by the second at the women behind the information desk, who kept insisting that they didn't have a patient registered by that name. By the look on Brody's face he could tell that she was on the her last nerve. The fact that she was tapping her boot rather tersely on the hard tile flooring said she was about to go into interrogator mode.

Not that he could blame her. He was at that point himself. "Look, an administrator called me. Ya'll said he was here."

An administrator? The woman's face pinched. "Oh, that sounds like it could be the John Doe was brought in last night. He's being treated by Dr. Voit. I'll page him for you."

"John Doe?" Pride was quick to catch the hinge of fear in Brody's voice. He could tell she was thinking about the case of mistaken identity with the dead IRS agent.

"Don't worry it has to be him." Pride said, reminding her that the woman on the phone said that Chris asked specifically for King.

Brody nodded taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. After the long drive the waiting seemed now seemed unbearable, as they watched for the doctor to appear.

"I apologize, our system went down earlier and it's still updating the files. I'm Doctor Voit. I asked one of our hospital administrators to call you about Mr. LaSalle."

"Agent LaSalle," Brody corrected, earning a sour look from Pride for her tone.

"Can we see him?" Pride asked carefully, forcing his own anxiety down as he studied the doctor's expression. The man was sporting quite the poker face.

"I'm afraid not." The physician hated having to explain that for the time being, Chris had requested no visitors, especially when he could see that the agents desperately needed some sort of answer that would bring them a sense of peace. But unfortunately that would have to wait.

"What do you mean he doesn't want to see us?" Pride glowered at the middle aged doctor with the salt and pepper hair. Again, The person, who had called them, had specifically said that Chris had asked for him.

This absolutely made no sense. Chris was family, had been for the last 11 years. Although he wasn't his own flesh and blood, Pride still considered him a son. _His son._ And right now, the senior agent desperately needed to see his son with his own two eyes

"Well tell him too damn bad, we need tuh see him with our own eyes to know, that he's alive."

The doctor didn't look entirely unsympathetic, but it was evident to Pride that he was going to hold firm on his previous statement. "Agent LaSalle has been through quite an ordeal. It's going to take him awhile to recover, if he recovers at all."

If he recovers at all? Pride exchanged worried glances with Brody.

"Are ya sayin' that he could-" Where the younger man's injuries that severe? To lose him now, would be entirely too cruel.

"Not from his physical injuries, no. But there are other concerns of the psychological nature. " The kindly physician was leery about giving out too much information regarding his patient's mental status, until they'd had a chance to further assess the man who had wandered out of the woods, near beaten to death and naked as a jay bird.

"Do you need me to get his mother on the phone?" Pride challenged knowing that Mrs. LaSalle would willingly (and had done so in the past) give her consent for Pride to receive any type of information regarding her son.

The doctor gave the man another sympathetic glance. He felt for the pair of agents, he really did. "Look, he's in shock right now. Maybe once that wears off and he's feeling more like himself he'll agree to see you. But for now, I have to honor my patient's wishes."

"He was abducted 32 days ago," Merri lamented. Without actually laying eyes on Chris they no way of knowing or not whether that was really him. After they'd found his clothing and wallet in the burn barrel, they needed the reassurance that this wasn't some crackpot with cruel intentions pretending to be their lost friend.

The doctor sighed heavily. He'd expected as much. "He's been pretty tight lipped about what happened to him. But if you really want to know, you might talk with the Crime Scene folks from Little Rock P.D. they were here last night after Agent LaSalle was brought in. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got other patients to attend to."

Pride could only nod as the man turned his back and started down the opposite end of the hall. He would heed the doctor's advice and ask for professional courtesy with the local P.D. then he'd pull his Federal Agent card and to get Chris' official statement (if he'd given one). But for the moment, his only concern was the younger man's well-being. The fact that LaSalle did not want to see him (or Brody) bothered him greatly. He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind horror Chris had been through the last month. He could only believe that his trauma had been so severe that his young friend wasn't thinking clearly.

"So what now?" Brody's doleful dark eyes expressed the fear that he was feeling.

"We wait," he told her placing his hand on the small of her back and gently guiding the female agent to the waiting room. Eventually an opportunity had to present itself.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when said opportunity reared its head. A woman dressed in a grey pants suit with a fuchsia blouse walked into the waiting room, headed for the coffee machine.

"Dwayne Pride?" she asked curiously upon laying eyes on the senior agent.

Pride's head snapped up and he looked over at Brody. She was curled up in the chair beside him fast asleep. He had himself had been dozing when the voice called out him. Slowly, he blinked his eyes, checking his comprehension. He knew this woman he reasoned, sitting up a little taller.

"Carolyn Rogers?" Carolyn had been Linda's roommate years ago when they were both in college. She and her husband Michael had been friends. "What has it been close to 30 years?"

"I shudder when you say it that way." Carolyn grimaced playfully, giving him a moment to pull to his feet.

Pride could only shake his head when he thought about how much time had flown by.

"It's good to see you," the fifty- something beamed, exchanging a hug with the agent. "How are Linda and Laurel?"

Pride's face fell slightly. "Linda and I are divorced and Laurel's in college, halfway through her second year. What about you and Michael and the boys."

"Regretfully, Michael passed last year, heart attack.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Pride gave her a small regretful smile. Together they walked over to the hot beverage machine. "So, what are you doing here at this time of night?" he asked casually.

"I'm the pyschiatrist on call, I do contract work for Little Rock, P.D. I was in Atlanta at a conference when they paged me to take a look at a John Doe that was brought in yesterday."

"His name is Chris." Pride replied flatly. "He's one of my agents. This one here sleepin' in the chair is Brody."

Carolyn glanced back at the woman, certain that she wouldn't like Dwayne introducing her like that, but her mind was already concentrating on her task at hand. "So about, your agent, Chris-?"

"LaSalle, Abducted a month ago by a human trafficker."

Oh those cases tended to messy. She'd briefly glanced at the case file on her way over, but hadn't really taken the opportunity yet to get all of the details. For the moment, she would save, Pride the anguish that most patients who had suffered through such an experience were never the same. Most of them ended up in institutions, their families hoping to prevent, suicide and regain a glimmer of the person they had once known.

"Tell me about him. Good agent?"

"None better. Trained him myself."

Carolyn nodded. So Pride was close to the younger man. "Family, or single?"

"Lost his girlfriend, a few months back. Murdered by someone connected tuh me."

That might complicate things a bit, but it was par for the course for stalkers and traffickers to target those who were vulnerable, so Carolyn was pretty certain she could work around it. Given what the agent had mostly likely been through, the grief over the girlfriend was probably a distant memory. The severity of this latest horror, trumping the other.

"Have you spoken to him?"

"No visitors. The doctor we spoke to said, it was Christopher's request. But that doesn't sound like him. He thrives on bein' around people, and family."

Carolyn pursed her lips. The request was quite common, "Did you ever think that maybe it's not so much him not wanting to see you but that he doesn't want you to see him?

Pride had to step back from that for a moment to process. Why in the hell would Chris think that? He would never blame or judge the younger man for being abducted.

"Victims of human trafficking often suffer quite degrading and demeaning acts through the hands of their captors, making it difficult to get beyond the shame aspect". Carolyn added quietly.

Pride could only nod. He could see where she was going with this. "So what do I do?"

"You wait him out. When he decides he's ready for a sense of normalcy he'll come back." He wouldn't be able to heal and get on with his life if he didn't.

An alert on her smartphone went off. "Oh, speaking of Christopher. I'm sorry, it looks like he needs me."

He needed her? Someone he'd never met? Pride automatically followed her out of the waiting room and into the hallway where he stopped and watched her disappear into the room where a uniformed officer was standing watch courtesy of the Little Rock RD. The officer opened his mouth to speak, prompting Pride to throw up his hands in surrender.

"Not go'in' in just concerned is all." Showing an effort of good faith, Pride took several steps back, but deep down it took all of his strength not to bolt past the officer.

He absolutely hated being on the 'family' side of things. He'd always emphasized with the families of the victims that were in his charge but he never had to actually had to live it, until now.

Twenty-two minutes passed before Carolyn emerged back into the hall, lips pursed.

"What happened?" Pride asked, his brow crinkling with outright concern.

"He's struggling." Carolyn answered before giving a nurse in pink scrubs an order for a sleep aid and another medication that the senior agent didn't recognize.

"What does that mean?"

"You have a warrant?" the shrink quipped although her reply had nothing to do with humor. "Because if you don't I can't tell you."

"A warrant," Pride grumbled. "He's my agent and my best friend."

"Not your flesh and blood but need I remind you that he is the one calling the shots. I'm sorry, Dwayne, he's my patient and I won't violate his trust."

Anguish rose up into Pride's cheeks. Chris had known the psychiatrist for all of twenty minutes, and supposedly some sort of trust had been established? What about the 11 years of friendship they had built together? Now, he fully understood the ramifications of trauma and PTSD and the things it could do to a person's mind but after 32 days of not knowing, this was tearing his heart out.

Carolyn disappeared back into the room, leaving a rather broken looking Pride to rake his hand over his face. The entire situation was just beyond him, making him wonder if the man in that room was really Chris. He just couldn't picture the man, he knew shutting him out like that.

He hadn't expected anyone to speak to him when the uniform cop suddenly said something other than _you can't go in there_.

"Look, I'm sure I could lose my job over this, but from one cop to another I was present when your guy gave his statement to my boss. Some of the things that happened to him, there ain't no comin' back from that. If I to guess there is no way he'll never work in law enforcement again."

Pride closed his eyes and clenched his fists before greeting the man with his best smile. Under any other circumstance, he would definitely have the uniform's badge for making a statement like that about his one of his agents. But he was desperate at this point. "Listen, do me a favor and get your boss on the phone for me. I'd like to talk to him.

If Chris wouldn't do the talking maybe his statement would.

 **A/N: Well it certainly looks like Chris is throwing up some sort of wall. Will Pride and Brody be able to tear it down? Yes, there are some Brody moments coming up, I promise ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here we are at our first Cherri moment of sorts. This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I wanted to be sure to keep everything in Brody's head to preserve her thoughts and the overall Cherriness of the scene. **

Meredith Brody stood in the checkout line in the hospital food court. After sleeping in a hard chair all night she needed something a little stronger than what the vending machine had to offer. So, she opted for a double shot of expresso in a cappuccino from one of the venders.

Briefly she thought about Pride and wonder how he was making out the police station after the uniformed officer had put him in touch with the detective working Chris' case. Like herself, the man was itching to go at the crack of dawn

Her heart didn't envy the man for what he might find in the file, which was part of the reason she'd opted to stay near LaSalle. She herself didn't want to think about the horrible things that her friend had been forced to do, the torture he must have suffered in order to survive.

A sting at the back of her eyes edged its way down into her chest twisting and stabbing at her soul.

Oh Chris was a fighter, which surprised her that he hadn't wound up dead. But what if he hadn't been able to fight, been kept subdued to the point where he couldn't function enough to defend himself? She was very aware of how human traffickers worked and what methods they used to keep their victims defenseless.

It was almost unfathomable that Chris LaSalle could ever be thought of as defenseless. But that would certainly explain why he wasn't able to handle having any visitors. She shuddered to think what it must have been like for him being held captive for more than a month, waiting in pain and desperation for the help that never arrived.

And in the end, he'd come back to them only because-

She didn't have that answer yet.

They had failed him miserably she thought swallowing back the lump in her throat. Now that she knew for certain that he was alive the guilt was unsurmountable. Almost to the point that it crushed what was left of her withered soul.

She paid for her coffee and headed back upstairs to Chris' floor. As she walked by his room, she noticed that the guard at the door had changed shifts. The new officer, a rather chunky fellow was standing at the nurse's station chit-chatting it up with a pretty blonde.

Her pulse quickened. Should she take the chance given that the man's back was turned? And what would she say to Chris? How would he react to her blatant denial of his request for privacy? Unable to ignore her own swirling emotions, Merri checked the hall making sure it was empty and quietly slipped through the door before logic could sway her to do otherwise.

Chris was sitting on the floor, back against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest. His right hand raked through his normally short sprigs of hair. It was a little bit longer than Merri was used to seeing it, but not horribly so. But it was the expression on his face that tore her heart out.

Twisted in anguish, tormented beyond what he was obviously able to handle.

As she drew closer, Merri noticed the nursing staff had seen fit to give him set of scrub pants and t-shirt to wear, rather than the traditional open at the back hospital gown which at the moment was probably a good thing. As soon as Pride got back, she would go out and get him some clothes and other necessities to make him more comfortable.

Cautiously, she sank to hunches, staying at a respectable distance. The last thing she wanted to do was to spook the newly found agent. But she didn't exactly know where to begin. "LaSalle, it's Brody." She said softly, earning his attention.

Slowly, he lifted his head so that he was staring right at her. The only problem he was he wasn't really seeing her. It seemed to Brody there was a vacancy in his normally lively blue eyes.

Shifting, Brody repositioned herself so that she was sitting criss-cross on the floor just inches from him. "So what is this exactly sitting on the floor? You taking up Yoga or something," she hoped it would get a rise out of the catatonically depressed agent but it didn't.

His eyes closed involuntarily against the pain as he started to grit his teeth. An unforgiving sensation of overwhelming anxiety started to rise up in his chest making it difficult to breathe.

Mustering everything he had, he uttered one word at her: clock.

Clock? Brody's brow furrowed, prompting her to look around the room. There was a large round analog clock on the opposite wall. It wasn't until she really started to concentrate that she could hear the ticking of the second hand as it moved along the large, round, dial. For a wall clock, it seemed unusually loud.

"Is the clock bothering you, Chris?"

"It's gonna go off." The fear in his voice was palpable. But it was the look in his eyes that tore at Merri's heart the most. She had never seem him look scared, (apprehensive, yes), but never outright fear.

The clock is going to go off? Desperately the interrogator in her wanted to press him at to what was going to happen with the clock went off but the nurturing half of her told her not to go there right now.

Brody looked at him sympathetically before rising to her feet to cross the room. If she climbed on the bed side chair she could just about reach the clock that sat on the opposite wall. It was worth a shot. Of course the hapless time piece was pretty much sitting at ceiling at the molding line, but with some stretching she got it, pulling down. Once she had it her hands, she removed the battery from the back, stopping the offensive sound.

There, done, no more ticking. She'd saved him from whatever demons the clock possessed. In her mind, she formulated an idea of exactly what those demons were the sadist had used the ticking of the clock to torture and torment her friend.

Looking back him heard him exhale hugely. It was the kind of sound that said relief. His face was notably more relaxed and for a moment she thought she saw the appearance of a slight grin or maybe she imagined it because that's what she so desperately wanted to see.

That was until the door opened and Carolyn Rogers appeared, her world darkening again.

"Agent Brody, a word in the hall please," the tone of the doctor's voice was light yet it was clearly masked with contempt.

Merri looked back at Chris, noting that he'd gone back to sporting the same tormented expression he had when she walked in and she instantly wondered as to why? He wasn't even attempting to make eye contact, not that he had before except when he briefly acknowledged her presence.

Did he even know it was her?

"Agent Brody," Carolyn prompted, holding the door. When she was certain she was out of her ear shot of her patient, the doctor wasted no time in letting Merri know that she had a crossed a line, by violating Chris' request.

Part of Brody wanted to say that by some chance he had invited her in but given her partner's current mental state she knew it wouldn't fly. So she tried another route.

"He is sitting on the floor!"

"Again, his choice," Carolyn snipped, reminding the agent that it had been Chris who denied himself access to visitors. The well trained psychiatrist knew that LaSalle's choice to be on the floor had something to do with the torture he'd suffered at the hands of his captor, but she had yet to get inside of his head and figure out exactly what had transpired.

"He is going to die if you leave him like that!" Merri said heatedly silently vowing to deck the woman if said anything about it being Chris' choice. The agent might not be a trained psychiatrist but after spending more than a year with Chris LaSalle, she knew how much he thrived on human contact and the closeness of being around other people. Sitting alone on a hard linoleum floor, would be his undoing.

"I'm going to do my best to see that it doesn't come that."

"Carolyn?"

Pride.

Brody darted her eyes at the senior agent, clearly letting him know she was displeased before deciding to walk away. If she stayed one more minute she was going to rip that woman's eyes out.

Pride placed his hands on his hips watching her disappear down the hall before glancing back at Carolyn. "What happened with Brody?"

"She overstepped her boundaries."

"She went in to see Christopher?" Pride didn't need her acknowledgement; he could see it on her face. "Did he speak to her?"

"Not that I'm aware of"

"Then why is she upset?" Pride already knew the answer. He himself was the point he that he was willing to bust through the door, against the armed guard to see his surrogate son.

"My guess is that she saw what Chris didn't want her to see." She saw him broken and helpless, an image that twisted the vision of the strong, normally fun-loving man she kept in her mind.

"Apologies, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," Pride promised before heading off to find his agent. He didn't have to look long to see that she only made it as far as the waiting room. She was pacing.

Arms crossed over her chest, Brody kept herself to a small series of steps, anger flashing hot in her chest. She was trying hard to quell it before it reached up and destroyed what was left of her heart.

"We have to get him out here," she said, containing herself to the small square she had visually made in the carpet.

The idea the Chris LaSalle was sitting on the floor looking like he'd given up was unacceptable. Desperately, she wanted nothing more than to march right back into that room and shake him until he came to his senses. She was certain that if she just tried hard enough, she could get him to see that he'd come back to them and that everything was going to be all right. They could be a family again.

"I'm not disagreein' but you shouldn't have gone in there." Pride had that look on his face. It was the same look he had given her the day that she had failed to call him when a rogue Chris had gone off to search Wendy's apartment in effort to save Cade from a murder charge.

"I know how ya feel Brody, but this is Christopher's decision."

There is was again, that phrase that struck her to her very core, threatening to break the dam wide open, all of her anger and pent up fear begging to spill out. From what she had seen, Chris wasn't capable of making decisions. How he had been able to communicate with anyone that he didn't want any visitors was beyond her.

Nodding, she managed to marshal her emotions enough to ask Pride how things had gone with the detective. Another piece of her heart had managed to sluff off when his answer reflected what they had expected. Pride didn't actually have to come out and say what he had gained by reading LaSalle's statement, Brody could see it by the look on the man's face. Their friend that they both loved had been kept chained up like some animal to be horribly used and abused. She could see that it was too painful at the moment to go into detail so she didn't ask.

"What about DNA?" If her suspicious were correct, the investigators should have found a ton of it.

"They're running it in through the system," Pride answered, fearing they wouldn't find anything. From what he'd already seen (or not seen) the monster that had hurt Chris was just too meticulous. The police detective that he had spoken to shared that a similar case had come across his docket a few years back, leading him to connect several other victims in neighboring states based on the description that LaSalle had managed to give them.

"Chris actually gave a sketch artist a description?" Brody found that hard to believe. The man she had just seen didn't look capable of forming a complete sentence, much less a statement with a description.

"Detective I spoke to said he was detached, but articulate with attention to detail." But the Chris LaSalle they knew would be. The man had a gift for memorizing the minutiae when it came to the specifics of a case that it made it easy for them to see how he would use that same detail to describe his captor.

The man he had described to the police was a towering beast 6'3-6'4 with broad shoulders and an above average muscular build, with brown hair, bold blue eyes, 40-45 years of age and one distinguishing factor: a symbolic tattoo on the inside of his upper right arm, that fell between the armpit and sleeve line: lines that barely intersected with the slightest curvature, the thickness and style indicating they'd been made with a calligraphy tip.

An ancient symbol for power and control.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This chapter is bit more uplifting IMHO.**

 **WARNING: This chapter contains course language and morbid thoughts.**

Chris LaSalle looked at the hospital version of Salisbury steak and pushed the plate aside. He couldn't recall the last time he consumed real food and wasn't about to start with that. One would think that however, that after a month of living on a steady diet of being force fed protein shakes and cardboard flavored Power Bars he would have seized the moment and scoffed it right down, despite the rather bland taste.

It had been several days since he'd actually put anything his stomach, not that it matter really. He was so empty on the inside that he no longer cared about the hunger pangs, that made his stomach cramp with the threat of malnourishment. After managing his first real shower in several weeks, Chris caught a glance of his sunken abdomen in the mirror, along with the outline of his rib cage.

Oh, if he had to guess, he was probably down a good 15 pounds from what he normally weighed. The flannel sleep pants that Brody brought for him to wear pretty much slid right off his hips. Even though she had purchased the correct size, or the size he used to be, rather.

"Agent LaSalle, is the food not to your liking?" Carolyn Rogers tried to maintain a positive sounding tone rather than giving him a directive, but her patient wasn't buying it.

"Not hungry," Chris droned avoiding eye contact with the psychiatrist. He had nothing against her. For a head shrink, she seemed nice enough and genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. But he wasn't ready to open up and play nice like she wanted, his mind was still refusing to believe that he was actually free of the monster. Sadly, he kept waiting for the beast to walk in and drag him back to hell. Even after three days of being hospitalized everything still felt so surreal, like he was in some sort of dream (a dream that he had quite often over the past month).

Before he resided that he was going to live out the his days with the animal who routinely tortured him and then ironically took the time to tend to all of his festering wounds and broken bones with the utmost tenderness, Chris used to daydream about escaping and then when that dream died he began to silently pray and plea with God that Pride would somehow manage to find him.

Although he could rationalize that his friends must have been frantically searching for him, there were times when he got angry blamed Pride for not finding him, or wanted to blame him. The older man, a faithful friend who was a father to him, should have rescued him. Why hadn't he? Why did he leave Chris to suffer day after day until all hope finally ran out?

The only reason he was still alive was because the monster had grown tired of him and decided to discard him like piece of garbage for the scavengers to devour and they would have had a Good Samaritan not happen along.

 _God, how he hated that Good Samaritan, right now. If they had just left well enough alone…_

"Do want me to see about getting you something else? Perhaps, I can ask Agent Pride or Agent Brody to run out and pick you up some take out?"

"Thank ya, Ma'am, but I'm good."

Carolyn set her medically approved I-Pad down on the night stand and pulled up a chair. "Look Chris, you know I can't let you out of here until you start cooperating a little more and cooperation starts with making an attempt to take care of yourself."

Cooperating? Chris turned his head so that he was looking directly at her giving her an _I'm in the bed instead of on the floor look._ Which was more than what they had a few days ago. He still wasn't ok with it and could only handle it for appearances sake. The medication they'd been giving him to decrease the depression and anxiety had started to take effect, making him feel more like a human being rather than a hopeless used up version of a hell hound's chew toy.

"Listen, I know you understand how this works." Carolyn paused, rethinking her next statement. "Agent Pride told me about the troubles you've had with your brother. It sounds like you know the process pretty well."

She was talking about having him committed, like he'd done with Cade after he'd painted the walls of his house red and green.

"Ya, leave Cade outta this. He's got nothing to do with it. This is all on me. My decisions, my choice isn't that what you said?"

"I did," the skilled psychiatrist instantly realized her patient's desperate need for control. For more than 30 days he'd been held against his will, tortured. until he was submissive, told when to eat, when to drink or even denied those things entirely. It all made sense, the intake of food was now the one thing he could control.

"But at some point you're going to have to decide that you want to play hardball with all this and take your life back."

"So in other words, fake it until I make it?" Or wind up dead, or permanently institutionalized which at the moment, both sounded like viable options.

"That would be a start. Even if you stay here (here being an institution), your friends, your family, you're eventually just going to have to deal with them. "

Chris couldn't deny there was some truth in that statement. The only way he wouldn't eventually have to face anyone from his past was if he were to die and that more than likely wasn't going to happen now that was amongst the living again.

A funny thought occurred to him as he rolled over onto his side to avoid the therapist. He thought the 30 plus days he spent with the monster was hell but the reality was living with the aftermath would be a whole new hell of its own. He would have to get up everyday living with the horrific things that were done to him and the things he had done in return to stay alive.

* * *

"What?" Pride saw the look on Carolyn's face when she came into the waiting room. Obviously, her session with Chris had caused her reason for distress otherwise she wouldn't be seeking him out.

He won't eat," she confessed, knowing that she had just overstepped her professional bounds, somewhat but it wasn't as if she was going to reveal everything they had discussed about his abduction or the PTSD he was now suffering due to night terrors.

"In fact he hasn't eaten anything since he was brought in." Without food, Christopher LaSalle was slowly going to wither away. If the broken agent didn't start to consume solid food soon, his doctors were going to insert a feeding tube.

Pride's brow furrowed, in time with a slight grin, Christopher, not eating, the thought didn't seem possible. ''Well, what are ya feeding him?'

Carolyn titled her head back and forth, a comical grin spreading across her face. Did she really need to spell it out? This was a hospital. 'You know, Jell-O, bullion broth, boiled chicken, popsicles..."

"I might be able to remedy that," Pride pulled to his feet and headed for the vending machine. Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out the appropriate amount of money and made a selection. 'Try these"

Carolyn looked at him mystified, "Zapp's potato chips?'

"Give it a shot. See what happens," Pride winked, "and if that doesn't work just direct me to the nearest kitchen." If he had to he would whip up one of the younger agent's favorite dishes, which the two of them often shared whenever Pride felt inspired to exercise his culinary talents.

* * *

The television was on but Chris wasn't watching it. He was staring at the wall almost catatonically again, his mind still refusing to believe that he was actually free of the monster, who had turned him into a weak submissive, who couldn't defend himself.

"Brought ya somethin," Carolyn set the bag of chips on the over-the-bed tray. "They're from Dwayne."

Chris shifted his eyes as if he didn't know who she was talking about. The last person on Earth that he wanted to think about right now was Pride. Not that he didn't he physically want to lay eyes on the man and seek comfort within his best friend's presence. He just didn't want Pride to see him like this, broken and defenseless. The memory of Brody slipping in and dealing with the clock was bad enough. But Pride? Now that would be his complete undoing.

Tentatively, he started to finger the small bag and eventually picking at it and finally taking it into both hands. The sheer idea that he had something which remotely resembled his former life absolutely terrified him but at the same time he felt a sense of relief. This was real which meant his survival was real. Opening the bag, he inhaled the flavor of sweet and spicy Cajun seasoning and grease. The chips were fresh and smelled heavenly. They were so tantalizing that his stomach growled at the aroma. Just one and he were certain he would give himself a junk food induced organism.

 _But he didn't deserve them_

Carolyn watched curiously as he set the bag back down on the tray and pushed them away. "Dwayne said, those are your favorite."

Chris pursed his lips, looking down at the sheets. She was talking to him as if he were a child, her tone patronizing. He hated that but he understood. To outsiders, he must look like a fucking nut job. 'I call him, King.' He said, distantly.

Carolyn took a moment, to process the nickname and cleared her throat. "Well, King is very concerned about you and so is Meredith."

"Brody," Chris corrected in the same distant tone as he went back to fingering the bag of potato chips as it were some unknown substance that needed investigating and perhaps processing.

Having this bag, this treat, that he normally consumed on a regular basis before the abduction was a new kind of torture in its own right. If he ate them that would mean on some level he was willing to step up and fight for his very soul, to possibly regain small pieces of himself, instead of the empty shell of a man that he'd become. He'd fought the monster so hard and for so long, until he finally broke, that there was no way he could be certain that he would ever even come close to being the person that his surrogate father and Brody expected, remembered.

That version of himself was gone.

What if he let them down more than he already had? He had already resigned himself to not letting them see him this way. So, why change the game plan now?

 _Because that would mean the monster had won._

His heart beating wildly against his chest, he decided to reach inside the foil lined back and pull out one chip. For several seconds, he looked at it as if he were a child who had been ordered to eat some foul smelling vegetable that he'd just been served. Closing his eyes, he brought it closer to his mouth, taking in the tempting aroma, as he felt it's rough, salty texture between his fingers. Then ever so tentatively he pressed it between his lips, savoring it as his taste buds ignited with its strong flavor of salty, bits of pepper and fried crispy goodness, a taste that he'd long forgotten.

My god! They tasted like fucking heaven in a bag! He devoured the one and then another until they were completely gone at which point he dipped a finger down into the bag, scouring the bottom for any trace of excess season that had been left behind.

A minor success. Carolyn slipped quietly from the room to find Pride.

"How did you know that would work?"

The older man shrugged, a pleased grin coming to his face. "I just know Christopher. But since I got him to eat, can I take him home?"

Carolyn's brow furrowed, she could see how much Pride cared for his young friend. "I'm afraid there's more to consider than his willingness to eat a bag of potato chips."

"Then tell me what it is and I guarantee I'll get him to do it."

Carolyn's downward brow lead in to a frown. "It's not that simple. He needs long term treatment."

Stubbornly, Pride shook his head. He could put Chris back together much quicker than any hospital could, probably better too. "He just needs his family."

"If I had a dollar for every parent or family member that said to me. You just don't understand. He is psychology broken." It was going to take months, if not years to put Chris LaSalle's fragile psyche back together and even then there were no guarantees. The odds were that if he left now, he'd more than likely end up committing suicide or worse become a predator, like the monster who had crushed his soul.

"I can fix him," Pride retorted with conviction. "Just give me that chance."

"Based on what I know of you, I'm sure that you can but just how are you going to do that, considering he still doesn't want to see you?"

 **A/N: Ok, so a small victory for LaSalle. Is he finally starting to come around or will Pride and Brody realize that he's too far gone for them to handle? Ok, so those of you who are reading TS know the answer to that.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This chapter is, how to explain it, both hopeful and angsty. My usual warnings apply, with brief references to torture.**

 **I can tell you, that obviously by the length of this chapter that I was very inspired, by the emotional upheaval felt by all. Once again, my friend, COL is to blame for her ability to move me through her storytelling. ;)**

Chris wasn't sure what exactly made him wake up and decide it was time to face the world, and try to make a go of it. Maybe it was the thought of his mother and the fact that she would have to live with having two sons who were certifiably crazy and had been committed. Maybe it was the sinking feeling that he was further disappointing Pride or possibly, the horribly terrifying, yet humiliating dream that had caused him to look shamefully at the pretty nurse when she came to give him his morning medication.

Whatever the reason, he just knew he couldn't stay here anymore. He debated about buying a plane ticket and flying home alone until he realized that he no longer had a wallet with a healthy line of credit. That and in the back of his mind, he knew there was no way he was getting out of here without facing Pride.

The man was still literally waiting for him outside the door, as any good father would. Far be it his own, flesh and blood, the man he had to legally claim as his birth father would ever show up to offer his comfort. If he did, the shame Chris would imagine would be 10x the amount he would ever suffer under Pride's non-judgmental eye. At least for today, he preferred to think that the man, who had raised him to be an outstanding lawman was the better choice.

Chris had enough of his own self-criticizing judgement to deal with this whole situation, the consequences, everything was his fault and now he needed to own that.

What was it that Pride had said to him about dealing with Savannah's murder? There was no way around the pain, (or in this case shame) he needed to lean in?

A soft knock sounded at the door causing him to look up.

It was Brody and she was looking at him with a bit of uncertainty. "You wanted to see me?" she asked, not sure of what else to say about the man who had literally froze them out after they'd spent 32 days in an agonizing hell, thinking he was dead. But to be honest, his thirty-two days were a lot more like hell than theirs. They just had the burden and the feeling of not knowing, while he had unforgettable memories that were forever going to be burned into his soul.

Nervous, he flicked his tongue over his lips. "I wanted tuh…thank ya for the clothes and for uh…savin' me from the clock." The last part of his sentence came out a bit hoarse as if he had to force himself to get the words the out.

The clock. Merri tried not to smile given she knew what sort of torment that it must bring him, but a part of her couldn't help it. She was just so happy to see him standing in front of her trying to make conversation.

"Sorry about the clothes, I guessed at your size." That was a lie. She knew exactly what size he wore and she suspected he knew the same of her. But given the fact that the trousers she had selected were more than a little baggy she decided to try and save them both face.

"It's ok," Chris shrugged. "Ya had no way of know'n I was on a crash diet." He was trying to find humor in it, he was really was but it wasn't working. He could see the sympathy in Merri's face as she so desperately tried to hide it.

He hated that look.

For Brody, It suddenly seemed so stupid, not to know that the man wouldn't have withered away somewhat. Of course, his captor hadn't been feeding him a five course meal every night. The monster had barely fed him at all!

"Oh, Chris," she whispered his name under her breath adverting her eyes. This was so much harder than she thought. To be here standing in front of him and not addressing the issue when her heart ached so badly for him didn't seem right.

What she really wanted to do was wrapped her arms around him so tightly that he had to know she would never let him go.

It was heartbreaking.

"I'm sorry," they both said in unison when she looked back at him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm just glad you're ok." He was far from okay. This they both knew. She had never thought about it until just now but the whole world knew what it was like for a woman to be savagely beaten down and torn apart through the depths of human traffickers. But a man this was new territory from a law enforcement officer's point of view.

The thought made her stomach turn. Heaven forbid, she would never ask, never go down that road unless he opened up to her and wanted to share.

"Well, ya did get one thing right." Chris reached into the duffle bag that she had purchased and pulled out a ball cap from his Alma Matter, the signature A for Alabama stamped in the middle.

Merri had gone to every specialty sporting goods store in Little Rock to find it and paid three times the cost for it too. But it was worth it just to see the half smile on his face.

It was fake, but at least he was trying.

"Good tuh know, LaSalle." She forced a smile of her own. But just because it was forced didn't mean that there wasn't some part of her that was cheering for him on the inside.

"So ya ready to go home? Get back to the city that you love?"

"Yes, ma'am," Another fake grin, plus he was lying through his teeth. But what choice did he have?

"C'mon, I'll walk you to the elevator," Transport arrived, the trademark wheelchair waiting.

As they made their way toward the elevator, Merri couldn't help but glance at the large sundial clock at the nurse's station. She was certain that Chris had spotted it too and was now fixated on the ticking although she couldn't hear the sound. But she could imagine that in Chris' head it was larger than life, grating on every nerve.

She noticed his skin had just gone rather ashen and that he was white knuckling the straps on the duffle bag as it sat in his lap. Stopping, she placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, only to have him flinch. She wanted to pretend she hadn't heard him gasp but she just couldn't.

"Chris?"

"I'm good." He sounded like he just lost his voice.

"Just try to breathe." Merri said, clasping her hands in front of her so that she didn't make the mistake of touching him again. She would have to warn Pride to be mindful of that too.

When they exited the hospital, Pride was waiting for them on the curb, next to the SUV.

Chris felt the air around him suddenly grow thick as the older man took the duffle bag from his hands intent on placing in the back seat.

"Christopher," he said softly, in the calm even tone that junior agent knew.

"King," Chris replied with downcast eyes as his friend turned away from him to take care of the bag.

Merri's brow furrowed for the moment, until the transport attendant, called out to her.

"Ya got him?"

"We do." Merri watched Chris carefully as he rose to his feet, facing his beloved mentor for the first time in over a month. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she saw Pride extend his hand, with a grin.

Chris looked down at it as if for some reason he didn't know what to do until hesitantly, he extended his own.

Pride grabbed the outstretched willing hand and seized the opportunity to pull his surrogate son in close, slapping Chris on the back. For a moment, Merri wondered how Chris would react to the close physical contact. She watched him stiffen a bit surprised that he somehow managed to play his part, coming away with a grin. Not the full grin she was used to, but another sign, that he was committed to trying.

"So what now?" Chris asked now that the hard part was over.

"We go home." Pride answered, "But there's one thing. She's flying and you're driving."

What? Chris was certain his face had just gone from ashen to a ghostly white. He couldn't drive. If Pride forced him to drive then he would have to keep his head in the game. Nope, this was too similar to what his captor had done, Gabriel had always made certain that Chris was somehow painfully engaged in whatever style of torture he was delivering making it impossible for the agent to mentally check out.

He had scars and bruises all over his body and on his soul to prove it.

"I need Brody back at the office ASAP, Percy's there by herself workin' a murder case," Pride added as a cab pulled up. The flight from Little Rock to New Orleans was less than hour giving the female agent plenty of time to go back over to Chris' house and check it for any kind of triggers.

Chris heard Brody shout out something to effect of having safe trip, but it really didn't register. He was more concerned with what was going to happen if Pride started asking questions. Seven long, excoriating hours of questions, he was in hell… again.

"It's like ridin' a bike. Ya never forget." Pride grinned as they stood there looking at the Explorer. The older agent had to admit he did feel a bit guilty for throwing LaSalle into the fire by making him drive. But he firmly believed the sooner, Chris got back to doing normal everyday things, the sooner he could start living his life again.

Plus, if he were driving the vehicle, there wouldn't be an opportunity to sulk. He knew from years from being friends with the young man he couldn't pressure Chris to talking about his abduction and that at the moment it would be cruel to do so. He'd already lined a therapist for that, one that Carolyn recommended, a female.

So, for the moment, his plan was to engage his young friend, in good healthy everyday conversation to get the ball rolling. If Chris wanted to talk about the other, it would be his decision.

LaSalle got into the vehicle that he knew almost as well as his own and gripped the steering wheel. He'd driven this particular SUV more than a thousand times, yet it felt strangely unfamiliar.

"It helps if it ya start it up," Pride teased, watching his best friend's cheeks go a little pink.

"Don't worry, I got this." Chris put his foot on the break and reached for the automatic start button. Glancing at the side mirror, he pulled away from the curb into moving traffic.

The first ten minutes was silent as both men listened to the GSP navigate the vehicle towards the Interstate, but once they were on smooth road with a set speed limit, Pride put his plan into action.

"Did ya eat this mornin'?" Pride reached for his phone, checking a new text, "Brody found this little place down the road that serves up a nice Western style omelet with a side cheese grits and baked apples, it's not the same as mine, but it's pretty good."

"Nuthin's as a good as yer cookin' King," Another forced, but notable grin, formed on Chris' face. But the effort was there. He avoided the first part of the question; for fear that it might lead into something else.

"As soon as we get home, I'm gunna to try out this new recipe I found for a Cajun style shrimp scampi, that I read about in a magazine supposedly, Paula Deen thinks hers is better than mine."

"Paula Deen, really?" Chris raised a doubtful eyebrow. Although the woman was obviously a culinary mogul she had nothing on Pride.

If he had to guess, Pride already had a strategy in place to start putting some meat back on his bones. No that the younger agent would mind that, He already knew that as part of his release, that Carolyn had recommended that he not spend long stretches of time alone dwelling on unpleasant memories, which would translate into being housed under the watchful eye of his surrogate father, or Brody, possibly even Loretta.

"For some reason, the woman has her own TV show." Pride added, his green eyes wide as if this surprised him. Granted the conversation about Paula Deen was idle at best, but for the moment it was safe.

"Big Bass, fishin' starts on April 2nd, ya registered, yet?" Gradually, the senior agent, lead into sports ( a topic which Chris LaSalle could go on for hours, if given the opportunity, especially if it had anything to do with fish'n).

LaSalle was quite certain that Pride already knew the answer to that but he played along until the topic seemed to be getting a little old. It was weird that Pride was speaking to him as if he'd been away on some sort of long vacation and at the times the forced conversation tended to grate on his nerves. It just didn't feel genuine.

But he understood why. The older man was trying not to treat him like the helpless and broken victim that had now taken over his identity.

"So what happened with Carpenter case?" Chris tossed out, that was the case they had been working on when he suddenly disappeared. It was pretty much an open and such case, given their findings, but again the topic leant itself to safe harbor.

"It turned out to the brother." Pride answered. He wouldn't go into the specifics that they'd actually dropped that case to put all of their time and energy into looking for him and quickly changed the subject. "There's a real good little Bar-B-Q place at the next exit, what do ya say we stop and get somethin' tuh eat?"

Chris nodded rather mechanically, veering the SUV into the right lane. The Bar-B-Q place was just a little hole in the wall shack with picnic tables outside, covered in the shade of large mesquite trees.

"Read about this place online," Pride said, as they straddled opposite sides of a bench to set down their plates on the only table not covered with bird poo and acorns.

For several minutes, Chris just sat surveying the peaceful surroundings and taking in sights and the smell of the mesquite until Pride called him out for pushing his plate aside and folding his forearms to the wood slats of the table.

"Eat"

"An if I don't?" he teased, purposely pushing the plate a little further to the side.

"Son, if you don't eat that, I will," Pride playfully stuck his fork into a piece of sausage on his friend's plate and popped it into his mouth, making Chris fake grin again.

"In that case, I want yer peach cobbler," LaSalle drove his fork into the center of Pride's dessert cup, pulling it across the table.

"Knock yerself out," If peach cobbler made his surrogate son, happy, then Pride would gladly march right back inside, and buy up every last one the restaurant had.

"So how did Alabama hoops do against LSU this year?" Chris asked, knowing that King would have watched that game solely because Laurel was to have sung the Star Spangled Banner. They'd actually had tickets, center courtside, and were planning to go together, Chris to watch the game of course, and Pride for his daughter.

"Crimson Tide," King sighed shaking his head, watching the fake grin, turn into the real deal until the alarm on his phone went off reminding him he needed to check in with his lovely daughter about an issue that had come up with her scholarship.

It was the old style alarm clock sound going off that made Chris LaSalle's face go ashen again, and nearly choke on the sweet dessert that had been enjoying so much. Rising to his feet, he started to awkwardly stumble away from the table and head straight for the parking lot, a clear sheen of sweat covering his face.

Leaning up, against the hood of the SUV he took several deep purposeful breaths as a particularly, terrifying flashback started to assault him; large hands, using a needled inking device, to dig into his tender flesh.

"Christopher," Pride's voice was anything but calming as his stomach muscles started to quiver, making him think he just might be sick and that his knees might actually buckle.

"I just need a minute," he managed, his voice strangled.

Thanks to a text from Brody, King knew not to touch his young friend, but rather waited patiently as Chris struggled to work through whatever demon had suddenly rose up, attacking his battered soul.

Pride felt guilty, he knew about the ticking of the clock but had never thought that it might actually be the alarm connected to the clock that would set off Chris.

He hated to ask, he really did, but he needed to be sure so that he didn't make the same mistake in the future. "He used an alarm clock to torture ya?"

Chris moved his head, in long over exaggerated nods, refusing to look at his self-appointed father figure.

"I'm going to get ya some water. I'll be right back." He heard Pride say before stepping away from the vehicle and locking his hands behind his head, so that his forearms were pressed up against the side of his head. The overwhelming sensation of needing to sit curled up with his knees drawn up his chest came to mind but he fought it.

This was going to be so much harder than he had imagined. He didn't know if he could pull himself back together. His heart was still racing with all of the ferocity of an Olympic runner out to the win the team relay.

"I'll drive the rest of the way home." Pride said when he returned.

"That's prob'ly uh good idea," Chris managed to drink some of the water and put on a brave face as they stepped back into the vehicle, lunch forgotten.

For the next hour, he did nothing but stare out the window, completely broken and dejected. Eventually, he was going to have to tell Pride something. Knowing the man as well as he did, he would have already read the police report and seen the pictures of his bruised and battered body.

"He set the alarm clock tuh go off every hour, kept it close tuh me so I could hear the tickin'". He didn't dare look at Pride and was thankful that the man couldn't take his eyes off the road for very long to look at him, but still felt the heart ache and sympathy draining from the older man's body.

He wouldn't go into details, but there were things that Pride needed to hear.

"Every morning, he'd use a straight razor tuh shave my face and then he'd use it to cut me in other places, some cuts do deep, they needed stitchin' up."

So no more trips to Jack's old style barber shop. Pride chanced a glance at the agent, his heart bleeding. Chris was still staring out the window, his voice a bit detached, just like the detective he' d spoken to said about his statement.

"An' he gave me a tattoo that matches his. It's on the inside of my upper right arm." Hence, the need to start wearing his long sleeved Henley's year round. No more beloved, black t-shirt.

"We'll get it removed," Pride said quickly, feeling a flash of anger rise up hot into his soul, vowing that justice would be quick and swift when the monster crossed his path.

"Did ya see or hear anything?" he added trying to steer Chris away from the physical aspect.

"He kept one of those Scentsy things, like Savannah used have, burning all the time, but instead flowerly or cookie smells it was pine, musk, leather, one of them had a bonfire smell, like a cookout."

All manly scents that could be associated with everyday things which meant Chris' good leather jacket and the traditional holiday bonfires on the coast might also be triggers.

"He also smoked a cigar and drank bourbon." He would leave out the part where Gabriel had burned him and then poured the alcohol into the wound just to hear him cry out.

Add to the list, no more going out to the balcony for the rare occasion to celebrate, Pride thought. Over the years, he'd learned to steel himself against the emotional hurt from the statements of victims when they brought up physical violence, becoming immune to those things. But remaining professionally compassionate was also part of the job. Save for when it came to Christopher LaSalle.

The thought of what had happened to his faithful sidekick was gut wrenching. The so called monster might as well of stuck a knife through his heart and ripped out. The very thought of Chris being cut (burned) and tattooed against his will made him want to go running back to Linda and cry like a baby. It made him crave vengeance, not the so called justice that he has so righteously preached to the younger man just last year.

"Ya don't have to say anything," Whatever the senior agent was imaging, living through it was ten times worse. Chris was quick to notice the somber expression that had taken over Pride's face in time with another long stretch of silence. But to tell the truth, the young agent was a bit relieved. He managed to share a bit and judging by the look King was sporting, he'd had enough for the moment. The few details that Chris had managed to let slip would more than suffice for the rest of the trip home and maybe then some. If LaSalle were really lucky he would never have to breathe a word of his abduction to Pride again.

"We'll get 'em," King promised softly.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: As I was writing this chapter, the song, STAND by Rascal Flatts kept playin' in my head. Not sure if it fits the entire chapter, but you might see what I mean by the time we get to the end.**

 **WARNING: Dark themes and language.**

"I want him back in the field as soon as possible. I think it will be good for him," Pride kept his voice low as he stood in LaSalle's kitchen, tending to a frying pan filled with scrambled eggs. Beside it sat a saucepan of white country gravy and in the oven, a baking sheet with fresh homemade biscuits. It was Chris' first full day back in New Orleans and he wanted to be certain that his young friend started the day off right.

Turning the burner down, Pride stepped away from the stove, continuing his conversation with Director Vance. "No, Leon, listen to me. You don't know Christopher like I do. He can do this."

Getting LaSalle back into a normal day to day routine was on the top of the senior agent's list. First and foremost, that included the younger man going back to work. If Chris could fill his mind with the on-goings of a case, then there would be little time for him to dwell on other things, at least in Pride's way of thinking.

"I understand what you're saying but hear me when I say this you're also the one wanted to write LaSalle off as dead!" Pride ended the call, tossing the hapless Samsung to the counter. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have bothered trying to ask for Director Vance's permission, but it just so happened that he was backed into a corner.

Per Leon's request, Carolyn had sent a report that suggested that the agency use extreme caution when deciding whether or not, Chris LaSalle would ever be ready for to resume his position as a field agent. Her recommendation, that a he wait at least a year.

A year.

Chris would be dead in year if he didn't have his work to fall back on.

Pride heard the squeak of the hinges from the French doors in the bedroom and quickly turned around, presenting his best smile. "Mornin' Christopher. How'd ya sleep?" he asked already knowing the answer.

Not well. More than once, he heard his young friend wake up with a loud start. It had taken every ounce of Pride's being not to bolt off of the couch and go charging into the bedroom. He'd wanted to save his surrogate son, face. When he'd awoken however, he did manage to peek in on Chris and found him sleeping on the floor, curled up on the area rug in front of the window.

"Terrible, you?" LaSalle figured there was no sense in beating around the brush as he made his way toward the coffee pot.

"The same," Pride answered. "But I got some eggs and fresh biscuits for ya, grab a plate and eat up. We've got lots to do today."

Chris tossed his friend a tight grin as he filled his cup and reached for a couple of sugar packets that he kept sitting in a bowl next to the toaster. "Listen, King you don't have to do all of this."

Pride palmed the island counter top, leaning forward. After what he'd learned at the hospital, there was no way he was going to let Chris fend for himself. Together, they were going to take it one step at a time. "Well, maybe I want to." He teased not wanting to seem overly concerned.

But truthfully, he was terrified for Chris. The only way to be certain that he wouldn't go catatonic again was to stay with him. Chris had survived the man who tried to break him into a sniveling pile of dust and Dwayne Pride would be damned if we're going to lose him to depression and PTSD.

"Ok," LaSalle presented a fake version of his trademark smile. He knew better than to argue at this point of the sick game the game the monster had him forced to play. For now he would do everything that Pride asked of him, hoping to earn back the man's respect.

Not that he'd ever lost it. It was more of his own inner demons and broken self-esteem making him feel that way.

"So, what's first on the list?"

"Breakfast and you will eat all of it," Pride answered making Chris shake his head, the notion of how much he actually enjoyed food coming back to him.

"No problem there, King."

"Then after you shower and shave, we're going to get you a haircut." Pride would make certain to steer clear of any places that used straight razors to avoid any triggers that might set off Chris' PTSD.

"And if you're up to it, we'll stop by and see Loretta. Sebastian's optional," Pride quipped.

Chris' jaw clenched. He could never find fault in Miss Loretta, she was as good and sweet as they came it was the idea of having to face another person who would look at him with a pair of sympathetic eyes, as Merri Brody had yesterday afternoon. Not that he could find fault in Brody either.

Her eyes had said, _I feel so sorry for you_ would no doubt come with tip-toeing around and overcompensating to make forced conversation.

"Loretta is a prerequisite to working your way up to Cade and your mother." Pride added as gently as he could, hoping to appeal to the side of Chris that still held a sense of duty to family above all others.

Chris gave a slight nod, his stomach turning at the thought of facing his biological family. He'd always been the strong one, the fighter of the family, the good son. Well, had been the good son, right up to the point that he'd up and moved to New Orleans and became a police officer instead of using his college degree to join his father in the oil fields.

But that was rather an insignificant point at the moment, "Cade first, and then Mom."

"However, you want to play it." Pride returned moving toward the oven to fetch the biscuits.

He'd already spoken to Cade about stepping up and taking on a role reversal where Chris was concerned. It was high time the man started giving back to his baby brother.

But that too would come in time. For now, Pride was content with having Chris do simple day to day things, like interacting with people, getting back up in the saddle again.

"I noticed you haven't said any about Percy," Chris plucked a hot biscuit from the cookie sheet as Pride set it on the counter, earning a skeptical look.

Pride hadn't purposely avoided mentioning the pint sized fireball. As previously stated, he needed her on that murder case. But like Brody, he at times he had his reservations, "Again it's up to you, but just so that you know she put just as much into finding you as Brody and I did. She proved herself a real team player."

Chris said nothing, though he had expected nothing less of their new team member. Percy tended to come off a bit arrogant and self-serving at times, but overall she was good people. Damn good agent too when she was thinking about her teammates.

"If it's all right with you, after we see Miss Loretta I'd like to go to the shoot'n range."

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" Now it was Pride who was sporting the fake grin. As much as he wanted Chris back at work, he was leery about putting a gun into his hands so soon.

"I'm ready, King." Chris replied with conviction, knowing Pride's desire. "That and I heard ya on the phone." He had heard Pride's comment about Vance writing him off for dead. It wasn't hard to guess that it had been Director Vance that Pride had been talking to considering he had to sign a waiver for his medical records to be sent to NCIS Headquarters in Washington D.C. But he could hardly blame the man for thinking the way he had. Six years ago, when Cade had failed to show up for Christmas dinner, gone missing, Chris had thought him dead long before the calendar flipped passing through the first month.

"I don't want to push ya, Chris," Now Pride was backpedaling from where minutes ago, he'd been arguing trying to get Vance to support the idea.

"You're not, like you said, it'll be good for me tuh get back to work." Chris replied, distantly not sure that he really believe that being back in the field would help.

"All right then. But your service weapon is at the office in the filing cabinet. We'll have to stop by there and get it."

LaSalle pulled his lips into a thin line. He'd noticed the P228 was missing from the lock box where he kept it in the top of the wardrobe. Doubtless, it was the first thing he'd looked for after arriving home. At first, he'd tried to convince himself it was a comfort issue, a security blanket of sorts if you will, but deep down it was frighteningly more than that.

It was the one thing that could separate him from the monster forever.

* * *

"Smile, make eye-contact," Pride reminded when they passed through the outer doors to the morgue into Loretta's autopsy suite. The motherly medical examiner had just finished up with the body of a middle aged man who had died from natural causes, while operating heavy equipment. A heart attack, while driving a heavy crane, luckily no one had been injured when the vehicle spun out of control in the middle of a work zone.

Chris felt his stomach flip-flop and his eyes avert to the floor when Loretta smiled at him. He didn't want to be looking at the floor he thought as Pride's put his hand on his shoulder. It just happened, an automatic response of his damaged psyche.

"Keep your head up." Pride said, through a smile of his own, making Chris automatically obey. Judging by the look on the happy medical examiner's face, she'd been expecting them. Obviously, this was a staged visit.

Not that Chris minded.

"Dwayne, Christopher," Loretta's happy grin grew as she approached the dynamic duo, focusing her attention on Chris. Merri had already filled in her about the possible triggers that could occur and his reluctance to be around people, so she knew not to do anything that might set him off. She'd even taken the large analog clock down from the wall so that it wouldn't be a distraction.

"Christopher, let me look at you," she breathed, like a proud mother who hadn't seen her child in ages. "May I hug you?" she asked trying to make her reintroduction as non-threatening as possible. She probably shouldn't ask for the hug, but to not seemed unnatural.

"Yes, Ma'am," Chris sucked in a deep breath, holding it as she gently placed her arms around his neck.

"My dear boy, I'm so glad that you're home and safe." She would leave out the part that she prayed every night on her knees to every entity known to man for his return. Whichever God ruled the universe, he'd granted her prayer, or maybe they all had either way she owed them a debt of gratitude.

Chris squeezed his eyes tight as she kissed him on the cheek before releasing him and quickly springing into business mode. "Dwayne, I found something very interesting about your Lance Corporal, Schmidt."

"Our Marine who was electrocuted?" Pride tossed out for Chris' benefit. Though he couldn't officially involve the junior agent, he could use the facts as possible talking points to engage Chris into possibly using his expertise and connect the various pieces of evidence. The conversation alone would help put the agent on the road he needed to be and back in the game.

"He may have been electrocuted but that wasn't the cause of death." Loretta continued. "Upon examination, I noticed something lodged in his throat, a large wad of chewing gum, almost a ping-pong ball sized worth to be exact."

"Chewing gum?" Pride's brow furrowed as he looked back at Chris.

"Yes," Loretta continued and it had a distinct smell; anise.

"Licorice?" Chris swallowed, his hands starting to shake. The monster, Gabriel had chewed licorice flavored gum; it was on his breath constantly and Chris' mind was already recalling the smell. Balling his hands, he waited until Pride and Loretta started discussing the possibility of affixation and quietly slipped out. He knew that given his surrogate father's watchful eye it would only be a few seconds before Pride realized that he'd suddenly gone missing.

But he needed a moment. Probably more than a moment, he thought, his stomach lurching. He really needed to get out of here. His chest tight, he was starting to feel like he couldn't breathe, he couldn't get enough air.

The side door would put him on the east side of the parking area, from there he could walk to the SUV (drive away, he had the keys). Taking in deep almost hiccupping breaths, he turned down the first hallway. From the corner of his eye he saw someone coming at him fast from out of a doorway.

The _someone_ called out his name, but it didn't register. Nausea was coming in big, violent, waves now, like he was going to be sick. He couldn't breathe, he was going to sick.

This was not good.

"LaSalle!" they called out again, but by this time, there were hands grabbing at him, arms wrapping around him, long lanky arms, pulling him into a big ol' bear hug that he couldn't comprehend. All he knew was that his nervous system was on overload right now, making him sick. He was suffocating.

 _Gabriel had his hands on him, big, binding, calloused hands, choking the life out of him. This was it, this time it was really it._

"Lem'me go!" Reacting blindly, Chris shoved the tall, beanpole of a figure into the wall. He needed to get away, but the thud of the body hitting the wall and then sliding to the dull white tiled flooring made him hesitate. The tall lanky figure, it was Lund.

Sebastian just sat there looking up at him, his glasses sitting lopsided on his face. "Glad you're back?" the lab geek managed quizzically as Chris darted out the side door, making a run for the nearest trash can before falling hopelessly to his knees.

* * *

Chris felt like an idiot sitting there on the bench, breathing into a bag, Pride perched beside him.

"It's only the first day." Pride said, softly, his hand hovering over the back of Chris' neck. Desperately, he wanted to touch him, offer his comfort, but he didn't dare. He'd just spent the last ten minutes, coaxing him off the ground.

"Maybe we should forego the shooting range for the today, save it for tomorrow?" Pride placed his forearms on his thighs, looking directly at the younger agent as he pulled the standard brown lunch bag from his face, eyebrows knitted in an angry fashion.

"No, I need tuh do this." Chris said, rising up slightly. Now that he could breathe again, he was angry, embarrassed too, but mostly angry at himself for letting the monster get inside in his head.

 _The monster was always inside his head, living there as if an actual person had set up camp and moved in for the soul purpose of fucking with him._

He needed to find a way to control, the PTSD which evidently had the power to knock him on his ass when it wanted to with it's horrifying, unexpected, flashbacks. "I need tuh go shoot'n! He told Pride a bit wild eyed, but determined. He needed his gun. Yes, he needed it. If nothing else, he could visualize that the target was Gabriel's face and use it to dispel some of the out of control emotion he was feeling.

It would be helpful, it would. It had to.

"Shooting range it is." Pride's reply came out in a big uncertain whoosh. After what he'd just witness he wasn't sure that Chris didn't belong in a padded room. He hated to admit that there was a possibility that Carolyn was right and he wouldn't. He wouldn't give up on Chris, not now, not ever. "But we'll use blanks." Blanks would make sure that Chris didn't put the gun to his head.

Blanks? Chris pursed his lips, tight before relenting. "As long as the blanks can cut through the paper."

"I'll make sure they will," Pride promised, pulling to his feet.

 **A/N: _You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off and then you stand_... Do you think LaSalle is ready to stand?** **And Loretta? Who just doesn't love her?**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I know I am overdue with an update for this one. But I've taken a lot of pride in this particular story (hence the length of the chapters) and since it is a collaboration piece with COL I wanted to be sure everything was right. But as a reward, there's a bit of Cherri in here for you. Oh and there are a couple of guest appearances too. ;).**

Dwayne Pride was snoring quite loudly when peel of his cell phone alarm pulled him from the throws of sleep apnea, startling him awake. His heart was pounding like a race horse after the Kentucky Derby. He looked at the clock bewildered, it was a little after four a.m. Calming himself he reached for the phone, hitting the speed dial for LaSalle.

They had a plane to catch.

Pride had been reluctant to leave his vulnerable friend alone but after more than a week, of being the younger man's constant companion he could find no reason to keep coddling him, gauging his every move.

The man needed to start standing on his own again.

Seemingly, Chris had reached a middle ground to where he could tolerate being around people and conversing, not to the point where he was comfortable talking to a complete stranger and acting like they were a friend, but he was making progress.

During the day…

Nighttime was a whole different ballgame.

* * *

Chris LaSalle started awake, shouting out at the sound of the cell phone that had jolted him awake from another night terror. Not a dream, a horrifying vision of twisted messed up violating actions that left him trembling and sick at his stomach.

Sitting up, he hugged his knees, breathing hard. His entire body was shaking.

The phone continued to sing its programmed chime. It was Pride, without thinking he reached for it and fired the hapless device into the wall. The action had nothing to do with Pride but everything to do with the nightmare. There seemed to be no escape.

He knew he should have answered, because now his friend, his best friend, would be here in less than ten minutes with sirens blaring.

Chris pulled himself together, raking a hand through his hair before getting up off of the couch and making his way to where the phone now lay, silent on the floor.

Great, the screen was shattered. His new cell phone that he had less than a week was officially dead and so was he.

Or at least he wished he was. The dreams, night terrors were literally more than he could handle. Sometimes he just wished-

Anger flashed hot and he put his fist into the brick wall that had murdered the cell phone.

/Shit!/ That wasn't smart he thought wondering if he'd managed to break his hand. Well, if he had he wouldn't be subject to the reason the King had been calling.

But then again, he'd have to explain why his phone was out commission and why his hand hurt so much.

Plan B. Suck it up, lie to King.

When Pride arrived calling out his full given name, Chris made sure he was in the shower, an easy excuse for explaining why he hadn't been able to answer the phone.

His only mistake he'd forgotten to dispose of the phone.

"You wanna tell me what this is all about?" Pride asked, picking up the deceased mobile device from the counter when his young friend emerged dressed in his trademark black t-shirt and brown cargo pants.

"Not really"

"Christopher-"

"Bad Dream," Chris replied quickly.

Pride pursed his lips, frowning. He knew better than to push, especially if it had something to do with a nightmarish flashback. His surrogate was very tight lipped and tended to run a short fuse when questioned.

"Ok, then, let's go pick up, Brody and head for the airport."

* * *

"King, is this this really necessary?"

"It'll be good for you, test yer reflexes," Pride quipped.

Chris LaSalle pursed his lips into a pronounced scowl as they entered the NCIS training facility in Falls Church, Virginia. As part of Pride's agreement with Director Vance he needed to pass a series of tests in order to be able to return to the field.

First on the list: rookie qualifications.

Not even Percy had been made to go through this what with her federal agency transfer. Come to think of it, he hadn't either when he had hired on straight out of Vice. The field experience he'd received had been more than enough to cover the hands on and tactical requirements for the job. It was a bit embarrassing to think he now had to go through a series of props and dummy villains to earn his way back to his service weapon and ultimate place back on the team.

You would think someone who had been kidnapped and tortured would deserve a little slack.

"This is kid stuff, you got this," Brody's hand fell to his shoulder, awaking the tense muscle that lay underneath the thin dark Henley. Though he'd improved a lot on his facial features and overall demeanor since that day in the morgue, his anxiety over new situations and people still remained at an all-time high.

He'd be fine one minute and then suddenly be shaking like a wet dog in the middle of winter with no clue as to what had set him off. He tried hard to hone in on things that could be possible triggers such as pitch black darkness, the clock and taste and smell of licorice but some things were just undetectable.

He wished he could say, Brody's hand on his flesh felt comforting but it didn't. And that made him feel a bit guilty. Merri had been so good and gentle towards him, never questioning about what had taken place at the hospital when he'd been all knotted up inside, acting like someone akin to a vegetable.

God, help him he absolutely loved her for that. Sure there were times when he caught her still looking at him with sympathetic eyes but for the most part she and Pride treated him the same as they always had (if you didn't count the fact that one of them was constantly checking up on him to see if he was still breathing).

"Pride, Brody, LaSalle." The corners of Abigail Borin's mouth twitched as she stood behind the check-in table, manning a computer. It was a rarity that she ever smiled, but today was an unusually happy day for the Coast Guard Special Agent.

Of course, every NCIS agent that Chris had ever met was probably here along with their mentees who had probably only heard stories about him.

Abigail's face changed as she gazed at her computer screen. "LaSalle, I don't see your name on the facilitator's list. Did you just come along for the ride?"

"I came for the coffee," Chris said, trying to feign a grin before doing a 180 and heading for the refreshment table.

"I'll go with him." Brody sighed quietly before Pride could give her a subtle look.

When he was certain they were out of earshot, Pride leaned over, whispering softly with a slight grin. "You'll find his name on the other list."

The other list?

Abigail's eyes narrowed, her mind processing the thought. Why would LaSalle's name be on the rookie list? "Who'd he piss off to have to go through that?"

"Long story," Pride answered before engaging in political pleasantries with a few longtime associates.

Across the room, Brody watched her partner pick up a Styrofoam cup and made a mental note that his hand had started to shake. Quickly, she scanned the room for any sort of ticking device. It didn't really matter if it was in the room she concluded when she failed to find the source, Chris could probably hear one ticking in the next building. Since he'd come home he'd acquired an acute perception for things that ticked and certain smells. She shuddered to think what would happen the first time they encounter a bomb once Chris was cleared back to regular duty.

"Here let me get it for you." She said, reaching for the cup. Automatically, her partner recoiled, drawing back.

"I can git mi' own coffee just fine thanks."

"Of course you can." Brody pursed her lips, making a face as he shoved his cup under the coffee dispenser. His hand was still trembling it was all she could do to contain herself.

Whew…

Success.

After they'd had their fill of caffeine and glazed donuts, Brody walked with him to the staging area where he would suit up and wait for his name to be called.

Reaching for his backpack, she pulled out his Kevlar and started to work the straps until she felt his steely gaze boring into her back.

"I can put my own Kevlar on too."

"Right, I was just making sure it wasn't defective," Ok, bad excuse. Inadvertently, she had been trying to coddle him. She wanted so badly for him to be himself again that she couldn't control herself.

"Because the dummy in there is going to hit me with armor piercing rounds, am I correct?" LaSalle quipped sardonically. The test was the equivalent to a round of laser tag.

"Something like that." Brody grinned largely at him, earning an eye roll.

God this was getting awkward.

"I'm not a rookie." Nope he was just a guy on the edge of a complete nervous breakdown. Truth was he had shattered into a million Lego bricks and was desperately waiting for someone to put him back together again.

"Definitely not," Brody nodded, earning another curt look.

"Look, I know yer just tryin' tuh help, but like you said, I've got this."

"Yeah," Brody pulled her lips into a thin line, giving him a look. "And your Kevlar's on backwards." Quickly, she turned on one heel, leaving him to deal with his absentminded mistake as his name was called.

Los Angeles based Agent and Retired Senior Chief, Sam Hanna, stood at the entrance to the obstacle course, issuing orders. "Agent LaSalle you have 3 minutes to clear the area and apprehend the suspect (a dummy agent). You will be scored on your defensive skills as well as your observational skills and tactfulness with your weapon.

"Any questions?"

"No, sir"

"Good luck."

The green light came on and Chris entered what appeared to the hull of a ship. He felt his hands start to perspire as the door closed behind him. But was there no reason for it. Nothing in the hull of the mock ship could remind him of the long dismal hours he'd spent chained up waiting like a defenseless animal about to be slaughtered.

Could it?

He sucked in a breath, pushing unpleasant memories to the back of his mind.

Training his weapon, he started down a narrow hallway canvassing the area as he went along.

So far so good.

Ten seconds went by and side door opened with an armed perpetrator dressed in all black with the cliché ski mask, jumping out. Automatically, LaSalle's reflexes when into high gear, allowing him to perform what came naturally, years of deer and quail hunting with an overbearing father taught him to shoot quickly.

Target #1 defeated.

* * *

Absently, Brody began to pick at her cuticles. She couldn't help but worry for Chris. Though she didn't know any of the details of his time in captivity, she had vivid daydreams of what he had possibly gone through, detailing the abuse until it made her sick to her stomach.

"Somethin' the matter Brody?" Pride asked, pulling a near empty cup to his lips.

Instantly, she clenched her fists, inwardly berating herself for allowing herself to engage in an annoying habit.

"It just seems like a long a three minutes."

"He's fine," Pride said, with hint of confidence. For the past week he and Chris had been running scenarios, training in various parts of the city along with regular trips to the shooting range. There was no reason for him to suspect that his young friend's physical ability to do his job was at any kind of risk.

Emotionally, however, that was a different case.

"I'm going to get more coffee. You want some?" Pride asked, before making his way across the room to find Agent Hanna.

"How'd my boy do?"

Sam grinned as he reached into his pocket and pulled out Chris' score card. "Ninety-eight, percent. He would have had a perfect score; except for he took a random shot at a clock."

Pride couldn't help but grin back at the agent. "Make sure agent Borin enters that correctly and sends it off to Director Vance."

"We'll do, Pride."

Pride purposely stood near the staging area waiting until he saw his young friend exit, hefting his gear bag over one shoulder.

"See what did I tell ya, flying colors"

Chris suppressed a grin as Pride slapped him on the back. A small victory had been waged. "Can I have my gun back now?"

"Why the rush," Pride answered looking away. In the deepest part of his mind, he still felt that Chris wasn't ready for that. There were still too many things that set off warning signals to potential self-harm.

"The murder rate in New Orleans is at an all-time high," Chris countered casually.

"Murder rate's always been high," Pride disputed.

"That's why I need my gun." Chris quipped watching his friend's face change.

"Ya need to start talking to your therapist first."

Chris stopped dead in his tracks, a rather miffed expression on his face. As prescribed, he saw his agency appointed therapist every week. She was a real nice lady, cute too.

He had conversations with her, he did. But he purposely kept them at surface level, preferring to keep all of the truly horrific stuff buried down deep. Evidently, Pride had knowledge to this.

"Ya can't be talking to her, King."

"Didn't say I had been I just know you. You clam up and hold everything inside and it's not going to work this time." Pride clipped, "If ya want your job back, it's gotta be more than just appearance sake."

Chris clenched his jaw, preferring to keep any come back behind sealed lips. Didn't Pride understand if he revealed the things that Monster had done, they'd lock him up in a padded room and throw away the key? There would be no way any ethical, therapist would ever clear him to work the streets. Sheer fear of every violent crime he was sure to encounter turning into some sort of emotional trigger for one.

Well, so much for any kind of victory, Pride had just taken that away with the sharp lash of his tongue.

* * *

On the plane ride home, LaSalle sat staring pensively out the window, his mind lost in a whirlwind of thoughts; Pride, the monster, his therapist. Suddenly, being confined to a small seat with a seatbelt over his lap really started to bother him.

A Phantom Restraint?

Unconsciously, he started to squirm until rational thought seeped in commanding his hand to release the metal buckle, prompting a huge sigh.

"You did good work out there today," Brody's hand on his knee made him jump.

In return, he gave her doubtful half-smile to her patronizing comment. He knew she didn't mean for it to sound that way, but that was the way he took it. Today had not been work; it had just been another facet of their coddling. Give the crazy, broken one, something easy to do, make him feel good about himself.

Little did they know, it was having the complete opposite effect. He knew his skills as an L.E.O. were top notch, that wasn't the problem.

"You're going to get there; it's just going to take some time." Her hand was still on his knee and now she was squeezing it. He supposed that was ok right up until the monster started to creep back in. Gently, he took her hand, depositing it back into her lap.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, remorse written on her face.

"It's ok, I just have reactions to bein' touched sometimes"

"Flashbacks?" Merri frowned.

"Yeah," he said, feeling the need to quench dry his throat.

"Ok," she sighed, "No touching unless I have your permission."

"And no coddling either." LaSalle added, watching her smile.

"You got it, from now on you can go to Starbucks and get your own Spiced Latte."

"Well, maybe a little coddlin' every now and then wouldn't be so bad," he grinned nudging her with his elbow.

"So what do you say to some dinner? There's this new place in the Garden District I've been dying to try," Merri said, knowing that he hadn't been out any place socially since before the abduction. She watched his brow furrow, which surprised her somewhat. Chris LaSalle contemplating a good time with great food? "I promise to have you home by ten and if anything makes you uncomfortable we can leave."

"Well, what about Pride? His is our ride." Chris said as they both looked over to the sleeping agent in the aisle seat.

"He can come too," A huge smile crossed her lips, "What's the matter, LaSalle are you afraid to be alone with me?"

Chris dipped his head, feeling the tips of his ears grow pink. It was quite the contrary, next to Pride, Brody was just about the only other person he felt safe being around.


End file.
